


Shortstack Kirlia Have Rights?

by Tas_tan



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Anal, Corruption, Cum Vomit, F/M, Gardevoir - Freeform, Kirlia - Freeform, MILF, Mess, Pregnant, Prolapse, Shota, Snorting, cum-inflation, facefuck, gape, musk, ntr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 72,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23512201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tas_tan/pseuds/Tas_tan
Summary: Pokemon battling becomes some wild, sexually abusive shit. From it are born generations of sexualized humanoid female Pokemon predisposed to reproduction with humans. These species later acquire sentience, and society outlaws battling as inhumane.A century later, a kid learns how easy it is to turn one of his fellow members of society into a cumdumspter. NTR, breeding, and the destruction of a pregnant Kirlia housewife follows.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this shit 2 years ago or something and finished writing it 3~ months ago. The entire thing is hosted on a website that looks like an FBI entrapment op, so I'm going to be porting it here. People seemed to think it was aight, so hopefully you feel the same.

**_*Special thanks go out to a good friend of mine without whom I would not have been able to write this. Much of the story’s content is owed to their input and ideas, for which I am, and will continue to be extremely grateful._ **

* * *

The world of Pokemon is a world with an unstated predilection for the status quo. Whether battling with Pokemon, breeding Pokemon, or researching Pokemon, or some other job that the existence of Pokemon facilitates, niggas get up every day and do more or less the same shit that they did the previous day. Major events do draw global attention from time to time, but for the most part, paradigm shifts—or more simply, ‘change’—rarely succeed in overwhelming the world’s assiduous commitment to its norms.

In this sense, the fictional world is not unlike one that could exist in reality. One would need to discount the hundreds of species of fantasy creatures and lack of wars waged with said fantasy creatures, but it’s basically the same shit at the end of the day.

Parallels of this sort are rarely a one way street; it is not impossible to imagine the world of Pokemon as having many more genuine similarities with reality than is immediately apparent.

Take for example the concept of time. With its passage comes inevitable change, and with this change the birth of individuals who come to regard the changed world as the norm rather than a deviation from what was or ought to’ve been. No matter how seemingly stable, the passage of enough time within the world of Pokemon would likely leave it as a different place than it is as present.

Alright, I’m going to be straight with you: I was going to continue with this pattern of introduction for a little while longer, but I’m sitting here lamenting how gay it is, so let me just do this instead.

Say Pokemon training escalates to some wild, indubitable shit. What was once a wholesome profession for niggas to get into whenever they wanted becomes a cut-throat line of work predicated on min-maxing, survival of the fittest, and exploitation of the most consistent and effective strategies possible.

You know, just like how it is in reality.

To keep up, Pokemon trainers would come to regard their partners not as friends or tools, but purely as a means to an end. In particular, the vast majority would forgo the process of catching them at random, and would instead take to the process of breeding species with the traits that they desire through trial and error before choosing one to invest time into.

You know, just like how it is in reality.

Regarding the majority of Pokemon species, following such a methodology would require time. Barring the use of artificial incubators for the most prominent species, one interested in training would have no choice but to wait for the birth of an ideal female species, and wait for said species to be bred by a sufficiently ideal male.

Change is some wild shit, though.

As the world of Pokemon seems to lack a formal economy, let’s assume that Pokemon battling forms the world’s financial backbone. Maybe it doesn’t’; I mean, it probably doesn’t. It’s a video game for children—niggas haven’t thought this shit that far out. Anyway, fuck man, just roll with it.

In such a case, the world’s leading scientists would be motivated to find a way to keep the trade of Pokemon battling a flourishing one. In all likelihood, they would tirelessly research the genetics of the creatures in question until they happened upon something that might make the process of breeding children as simplistic as the process of training them.

  
Say what they discover is a loose genetic link between relatively humanoid species of Pokémon and humans themselves. Say that these hypothetical researchers mark every Pokemon species that kind of looks appropriate to depict as a shortstack as capable of being impregnated by humans with a disgustingly efficient rate of turnover. If you were a Pokemon trainer trying to stack paper and accolades up, what would **you** do?

You would succeed—remorselessly and by any means necessary.

Undoubtedly, the ‘world of Pokemon’ birthed from such a discovery would not be a very pleasant one. Certain female Pokemon species that kind of look like humans provided you use your imagination and fuck around on the internet a bit would be made to endure repeated instances of brutal sex and insemination for the sole purpose producing superior offspring. The most potent species would be subjected to these ‘atrocities’ more often than others, which would consequentially lead to great deal of genetic variance and mutation.

Of the species most likely to be abused, the Ralts line would likely sit at the forefront. Globally, rashes of dudes trying to cop that Modest Gardevoir or whatever the best one is now would tirelessly drain their balls into female Ralts, Kirlia, and Gardevoir hoping to Christ to get a better one than they have already.

Why? Because they’d feel as though they’ve no other choice but to. Also because grinding Pokemon doesn’t flex bitches, but that’s beside the point.

Moving forward with this obtuse hypothetical, society would quickly devolve into an excess of male degenerates pursuing a ‘profession’, and the men and women on the sidelines content with watching others live this way.

Regardless, even if allowed to persist for decades on end, such a society would eventually find itself subject to change once again. Sooner or later, the repeated breeding of Pokemon with humans—I know this is gay, we’re almost done—would result in these humanoid species adopting human mental traits for the purpose of survival. The foremost of these would be sentience, language acquisition, and emotionality: the three things that might see their generations spent as breeding stock brought to an end. These things as witnessed alongside the intelligence naturally gifted to many of these species would see the use of Pokemon within society as something more comparable to the enslavement of another race than the mass production of cattle.

Humans, fictional or otherwise, abhor the abuse of beings like them. Pokemon capable of speaking, feeling, and acting as they do would prompt society to ‘take one for the team’, and cease their barbaric practices for the greater good of all life on earth. Accords would be put in place banning the use of sentient species for combat, and with further time, battling would be outlawed as an archaic, barbaric practice better left in the past.

Now, I can’t really speculate on what people in said hypothetical fictional world would do for money without Pokemon battling. What I can do, though, is speculate on how such a world would turn out under the assumption that everything turns out for the best.

To protect their newfound brethren from discrimination and bias built up over countless generations, right and privileges would be bestowed onto the aforementioned Pokemon species under a blanket classification. Sentient and Humanoid Pokémon (SEPHs for short), would be forcibly integrated into society against the protests of humans deeply invested in the trade of Pokemon battling and the class divide between the species. A generation of friction and conflict would dawn and set, and with time, the classes concerned would learn to see eye to eye. Neither side would forget that which had been, but for the sake of progression, all would move past it in search of a better future.

Publicly, of course. Though most would genuinely acclimate, others would feign as much whilst housing more ‘unacceptable’ opinions deep within themselves. Some would be born with these opinions whilst others might adopt them as a consequence of history itself.

Ultimately, the biased would exist in every shape, size, and age imaginable: even those that one might place at the pinnacles of innocence and purity.

Like a kid, for example. A harmless, slight, and monstrously-endowed child seemingly more capable of injuring himself than anyone else…

-

**A HOUSE—A SUBURBAN NEIGHBOURHOOD—NOON**

Throughout the second floor of a house could be heard the repeated thump of a hammer to a surface flat, and in all likelihood, wooden. Unhindered and echoing, its clarity suggested production within a room containing minimal obstruction—furniture, mattresses, and perhaps even curtains.

Sealed box in hand, a child pattered progressively towards the source of this noise. First clearing the sole flight of stairs leading up into the area, he progressed across the second floor corridor with a smoothness that implied familiarity. Innocuous in both appearance and stride, one would sooner describe him as a resident of the house than an intruder within it.

Truthfully, he was both.

Soon enough, his slide across the corridor came to an end with his frame opposite the second door to his right. Leaning against it to drive its unlocked face into the room itself, the weight of the box that he clutched and the amount of time he had spent carrying it nearly resulted in his losing his balance and falling through it. Steadying himself within several single-footed hops through the room itself, his reorientation saw the consistent hammering noise produced within the room replaced by that of a short-lived chuckle.

“Ha! Just can’t help yourself when it comes to helping out, can you, Cruz?” the source of chuckle suggested. “That box is probably the heaviest one left; I could’ve managed it with levitate afterwards, y’know?”

Quite used to his neighbor’s good-natured chiding of his efforts, Cruz responded with a chuckle of his own. Setting the box within his hand down ahead of him, he rolled his shoulders in a display of indifference.

“I know, I know. It still would’ve taken something out of you to get it done, right?” he replied. Setting his feet into a stride, he moved over the face the older male within the room’s center. After his first step on this path, he continued speaking with his features directed downwards rather than forward. “Unlike me, you’ve got actual work you need to do after this. Sure I’m not the biggest or the strongest, but kids have a lot more energy than you think!” he added. “Besides, Kaona, Anya, and…”

“Suya.”

“Yeah, Suya! All three of them are counting on you to come home in decent shape afterwards. I’m here to help you do that, so carrying a box or two is no big deal.

“And anyway, you’re just as bad as I am. If I help out too much, then you work too hard, Arthur!”

Cruz’s rebuttal left the adult to which he spoke smiling and reticent. Incidentally, it also came at a point in time just short of the end of his stride towards him.

Once opposite each other, it became apparent that the boy and the man were not at all comparable. Ahead of Cruz and several feet beneath him stood the male Ralts he had referred to as ‘Arthur’. Hammer in hand and dress-shirt sleeves drawn up to the middle of thin and lime green arms, the psychic Pokemon momentarily ceased his constructive efforts to stand and face his young neighbor as he usually did.

To his left could be seen a child-sized bed frame, and at his knees the beginnings of an infant-sized crib—the catalysts for the hammer-impacts that had once flowed through the room. These structures were the products of several hours’ labor on Arthur’s part. Physical strength substituted for psychic energy, he had worked through just as much perspiration and exertion as a human might’ve whilst working through a similar task.

Though his fatigue was evident, the response that Arthur produced to Cruz’s claim maintained the same hints of masculine bravado predictable from an adult male proud of the effort he had put forth. Per usual, though, its impact suffered from the perpetually pre-pubescent voice with which it was uttered.

“Ha…I wouldn’t call this hard work, Cruz. You probably won’t understand for a long time yet, but this is the kind of thing that fathers live for.” Arthur replied. “Anya’s getting bigger, and she’s going to have a sister before long. Nothing makes me happier than being able to give the two of them a room to grow up happy and healthy with my own hands.”

“Is that so?” replied Cruz, head tilted in confusion. “Nice as that sounds, I guess you’re right—I don’t really get it. Kaona’s sure to be impressed, though; she’s been frowning about you working so hard all morning.”

Struck by an epiphany, the youth made a fist with his right hand and gently thumped it into a basin made from his left palm.

“Oh! Almost forgot! I’m not just here ‘cause of that box; I was supposed to come up here and remind you’ve got to be leaving soon.” Cruz continued. “Kaona didn’t think you’d be keeping track of the time, so she wanted me up here to bring you down a little early so she can see you off properly this time.”

First stifling a mild chuckle, Arthur set down the hammer clutched within his hand. Gingerly progressing forward, he cut around Cruz’s frame to set about the task of making himself presentable for his wife’s reserved, yet ever-so-cutting concern.

“Ah, I guess that’s it…” he sighed. “I’ll have to finish up with this another day. Do me a favor and make sure Kaona doesn’t try to do it herself while I’m gone, ok? Knowing her, she’ll try the first chance she gets.”

Following behind Arthur, Cruz rolled his hair-obscured eyes into the top-right corners of their sockets. Momentarily imagining Kaona’s labored frame setting about the task, he nodded in agreement just after the mental image he had formed frowned at him.

“Probably, yeah.” he replied. “I’ll make sure she takes it easy, though. That scowl of hers is scary, but I’ve managed so far, right?”

Already partway through the door, a subdued laugh slipped from Arthur’s lips.

“You’ve got a point there, huh? Sometimes, I almost think you’re better at dealing with her than I am.” he muttered.

“Genetics really are something. Through and through, you’re exactly the kind of kid your father was…”

-

**A HISTORY OF JUST GETTING BY**

  
Scarcely could Arthur recall a pair of years happier than those than the last two that he had lived. In these years, he had married, his first child had been born, and—well before he could settle into either of these things—he had found himself reunited with the sole person that had motivated him to achieve these things for himself.

The happiness that he felt was not imagined; the 22 years he had lived prior to them had taught him enough about suffering and discomfort to make positive affect that much more apparent to him.

A runt male born 3 full generations after the end of an age of atrocities, his upbringing was one rife with loathing self-imposed, and inadvertently projected by those around him.

Decades of specialized and select breeding processes predisposed female SEPH types to birthing female children. These females were typically born with superlative feminine traits regardless of the input provided by their fathers, and more often than not went on to sire additional female children themselves. Conversely, the birth of healthy male children from females was selected against, as were female bodies liable to produce them. So deeply had their biological processes been shaped by human contact that the birth of male children blighted by slightness and smallness had become the rule than the exception.

Arthur’s birth had adhered to this rule. Smaller, shorter, and weaker than even his father had been, his youth was spent looking up to and around at others for information as to what he was ‘supposed’ to have been. Whether human or Pokemon, few regarded him as anything more than another person deserving of care and affection. He could not be looked to for success or failure—only an existence devoid of impact on the world around him.

Along the way, only a pair of individuals viewed him as something more. The first was a friend he had met and maintained throughout highschool, and at present, the father of the preteen child who so earnestly devoted the days of his second consecutive summer assisting his wife.

The second of these individuals was his wife.

Amongst Pokemon, a great deal of stock was placed in the idea of early and disproportionate marriages. Unlike many of her youthful peers, Kaona’s upbringing had made her a firm believer in the aged concept. From birth to her teenage years, it was impressed upon her that making use of her genetics naturally for the betterment of her species was amongst the very best she could do for herself as a female. Birthed from their instruction was a young woman rigid and reticent, yet on occasion more childish than any of her peers. Eventually, the idea was internalized deep enough into her psyche for her frame to unconsciously seek out a means of realizing it.

The first step that it took was evolution. Early on within her teenaged years, her appearance as short and slight Ralts was replaced by that of a slightly-taller* (still extremely diminutive) and impressively buxom Kirilia. Her board-flat chest was replaced with a pair of spine-testing and tactually squishy E-Cup breasts that rarely agreed with her 3 ½ feet in height. Legs thin and spindle-like were packed with fat and flesh until their smoothness demanded the re-organization of her wardrobe, and hips narrow and dollish were bent outwards to compete with the obtuse curvature symptomatic of over-fertility.

Next, she found herself a husband. Geographically, Arthur had been her only option if she wished to remain within touching distance of her family. Separately, he represented the familiar; shared schools and social circles had acquainted her with him long before the idea of marriage became so appealing. Moving away in search of a more ‘ideal’ partner was hardly unheard of for a female in her position, but so far as she was concerned, the ‘contribution’ that she owed her species was not one that she ought to be choosy about.

From her tenacity came a meeting between the two of them, and shortly after that, their marriage.

Naturally, Arthur did not resist coupling with another a mere 24 years into his youth. Permissive aptly described his thoughts towards the intents of others, but past this, the idea of a Kirilia so developmentally gifted approaching him for a marriage was akin to a dream come true.

The dream he had come to live did not begin and end with only Kaona’s body. A mere 6 months of living alongside her introduced him to the weight of duty, and how one might find meaning in its fulfillment. The former he learned from watching a young woman devoid of domestic skill throw herself into the role of a housewife without any idea of how to flourish within it. The latter was impressed on him through conversation—or what little amounts of it she entertained.

_“What you look like and what you can do don’t matter to me at all. When you were faced with an opportunity to do something for your kind, you accepted it instead of turning away from it. That’s what matters to me, and that is why I will stay with you no matter what difficulties we encounter.”_

When jokingly asked about the reasoning behind her approach, this was the answer that she produced. Ultimately, it served as the sole motivation for Arthur’s decision to cast off his weakness.

Perhaps he was not the strongest example or the most traditional example of masculinity. Perhaps he never would be. Regardless, when put up against the idea of failing the woman who had invested herself in his actions rather than his stature, such fates seemed far less crippling than they had during his youth.

Day by day, he worked to convince Kaona that her trust and pride had not been misplaced. From the job he acquired for himself to the home that he selected for them to live, each decision he made was one made with her in mind.

Living like this made the birth of his first child an inevitability. Children were a want that Kaona could not stifle, and one he could not help but attempt satisfying.

Initially, Arthur was quite confident that managing a marriage would not be unlike managing a family. Months into the ordeal, he found the anxiety wrought from Kaona’s refusal to sit still and be taken care of greater than any he had felt previously. Mere words could not convince the sorely pregnant woman to put down her mantle of ‘wife’, yet words were the only tools that remained at his disposal.

Reality did not allow him to suffer with this plight for long, however. Seemingly rendered unto him as recompense for his decision to do his utmost was the arrival of the boy he had befriended in high school and his family into his neighbourhood.

As it turned out, the location offered qualities that appealed to human sensibilities regarding family rearing as well. With a daughter on the way and a son young enough to be moved around without much friction, it occurred to him that a fresh start somewhere new would do his budding family well.

From his arrival, Arthur gained both a means of looking after his wife and an outlet with which to try his hands at fatherhood.

Much like his father, his old companion’s son was a boy too kind hearted for his own good. Old enough to understand Arthur’s situation yet young enough to meddle with it, he offered his services as an occasional assistant to Kaona during her pregnancy. Citing his recently-gained freedom in summer vacation and the various skills he had acquired from his father as backing for himself, he lobbied aggressively for the opportunity for what seemed to be no reason at all.

Arthur understood him; the boy was the spitting image of his father in his youth. He thus accepted, and in doing so earned peace of mind for himself and Kaona until the day his daughter was born.

In the end, the arrangement proved potent enough to validate the youth’s continuing to aid his family—albeit on a more infrequent basis. Evening visits from him became the norm, as were requests from Arthur himself for babysitting from time to time.

Over a year later (one that included the confirmation of Kaona’s second pregnancy), the adult Ralts could no longer imagine a world wherein the boy was not present. Such was the trust and affection he held towards him that the differences between their species never stymied his desire to refer to him as a son.

Having finally found stability and happiness, he refused to look past it.

Never did he wonder as to what the boy’s evenings with Kaona were like, nor did he question the strange smells that sometimes permeated the house’s air on his return from work.

In his mind, there was no reason to. Gone were the days wherein humans and Pokemon had reasons to mistrust one another.

Now was the present: An age trust, equality, and progression for humans and Pokemon alive…

-

**NAH, BUT FOR REAL THOUGH, IT’S NOT—FAMILY LIVINGROOM**

In the minutes (nearly an hour, in truth) most immediate to Arthur’s departure, Cruz found a place for himself seated within the house’s living room.

Lounging around atop one of its couches and relaxing was his best means of keeping abreast of Kaona’s condition without making her feel as though she was a prisoner being watched by a child. Really, though, the reason for his presence alongside her was far more self-serving than some naïve desire to play the part handed down to him by her husband.

Bluntly, he persisted alongside her not out of obligation, but for the sole reason that being in her presence was enjoyable.

Ground with which to base this could be seen in his current upright lean back into the material of the largest sofa within the room. Left leg curled sharply over the knee of his right, he sat here engaged in a conversation with the older woman that had thus far etched a smile to his youthful features.

“…And then….” mid-thought, Cruz dipped his skull backwards to speak toward the ceiling as opposed to his conversational partner. “If you can believe it, he started going on about some shit to do with what it felt like to be a ‘good father’ or something retarded like that. I almost felt bad for him, but then I remembered that he isn’t saying shit like this on purpose…” again trailing off, he pulled his skull out of its bend prior to continuing.

“The only reason he feels good about admitting that kind of **garbage** out loud is because you can’t find it in yourself tell him the truth, isn’t it?” he suggested. “But I can’t fault you for that either, can I? If I tried, I’d just be punishing you for being yourself.

“And that wouldn’t be fair. Not when you’re disgusting SEPH genetics have been so much fun for me to abuse c:”

Having talked himself into desiring a response from Kaona, Cruz ended his unwholesome diatribe with an uncurling of his left leg from around the back of the pregnant Pokemon’s skull. Relieving the primary weight that kept her face messily affixed to the expanse of slop and stench matted at the base of his pale crotch, he watched and waited for her to right herself and draw her first breath of air not infected by the stench of musk or semen.

Predictably, she did not move an inch. What fractions of her cheeks and face sat ‘uninvolved’ with her throating of his member grew redder in color and wetter with tears, but her frame did not produce a single alleviatory motion in response.

Unsurprised yet disappointed, Cruz’s produced a smile drenched in a warmth far too understanding to be genuine. Dipping his left hand downwards, he clasped one of the crimson fringes arcing from the top of Kaona’s head. Clenching down on the vital organ as a lever, he vigorously yanked her skull backwards and upwards to see the inches of cockmeat presently engaged in her suffocation extracted from their bloat of her neck.

Reaped from the rise of her skull and the drag of steeled cockmeat from out of its depth were a pair of presentations that Cruz could not help but smile at. As Kaona’s lip-less maw was made to trail over the system of engorged and compressed blood vessels lining his member, regular expulsions of precum and mucus regurgitated from her innards by the activation of her gag-reflex could be seen rolling down the length of his endowment into additional splatters against his crotch. When finally his cocktip was pulled from its invasion of the Pokemon’s G.I tract (just over a foot of punishing extraction), the silver-haired youth was again made to compare the size of his endowment with the hole that he had plunged it into.

To the right of Kaona’s reddened, sputtering, and pubic-hair smeared features was an erection that represented just under a third of her body’s length. Well-wider than her neck at an imposing 4.5 inches and swathed from base to tip with an assortment of thick, and often rock-solid blood veins, the very idea that its entirety had tasted the muggy constriction of even one of her orifices seemed inhumane—more so given her status as pregnant.

Long since had Cruz achieved this feat. As such, this was not what he focused on whilst his shaft steamed and throbbed beside Kaona’s face.

What interested him was the fact that, even now, Kaona managed. Furthermore, she did so not against her will, but in following the instincts written into her very species.

If only for a few seconds, dwelling on this thought made the ‘effort’ that he had expended in remaining present with her day after day that much more worthwhile.

Whilst admiring the sight, an unexpected deviation in its contents provided the youth with something else to admire.

After righting her breathing, Kaona’s first action was a slide to her right. Replacing her features underneath the erection that she had plastered with her mouth’s lubrication, she dove downwards to press her face into the sweaty and equally-mired testicles settled underneath it. Going so far as to put both of her fingerless hands to use to peel the root of her suitor’s towering erection from off of them, she affectionately nuzzled the greasy orbs with the nose-less midsection of her face. Despite being without an obvious means of taking in the fluid-muddied scents affixed to them, noises akin to harsh snorts could be heard from her skull as she moved. Additionally, mucus-glutted pants and groans slipped regularly from her opened maw in a manner similar to an ill person’s struggle with their own congestion.

After a time spent like this, the Kirilia moved from the right-left nuzzling of her face to Cruz’s testicles to a biased press of her features to the region. Here, she steadied her breathing with the left side of her face still smothered to the underside of his shaft, and afterwards opened her mouth to send her tongue into a perverse ‘collection’ of the taste of his balls and the throatslop affixed to them.

As she did this, she spoke.

“I-If y-you want me to t-take responsibility for—*SCHL—PPAH!* what y-you’ve d-done to me, I refuse.” she began, a shaken iciness held within her tone. “D-Doing those things doesn’t make him *SLSHH-PLORPP-AHH—doesn’t make him foolish. H-He’s doing his best a-as a man. Y-You can’t expect me to want t-to take that kind of purpose away from him…”

“I-I am not a good w-wife, b-but I’m not as cruel as you…” she finished.

Seemingly level-headed, Cruz took the ‘good’ of his situation with the ‘bad’. Watching idly as Kaona continued to feed her olfactory organs sick on that which his member had produced, he met her rebuttal with a chuckle of derision.

“Aren’t you, though?” he suggested. “Only one of your kids belong to him, yet you refuse to tell him because you’re a little too comfortable feeding those perverse instincts of yours day after day.”

“There’s nothing wrong with admitting that, you know.” he added genuinely. “Your whole species were bred over and over again like **fucking pigs** just over 100 years ago. You never had much of a short at being a ‘good wife’ to begin with.”

With these words came an affectionate rocking of Kaona’s skull executed via his maintained grasp to the red arc atop her skull. A vital protrusion in the cognitive architecture of Kirlia, the grind of his palm and fingers into its rigid flesh was tantamount to a physical curtailment of one’s ability to think.

Kaona had grown quite used to this discomfort. Nevertheless hindered by it, continuing to lap and kiss at Cruz’s cock seemed a more worthwhile activity to her than working her taxed brain to produce a legitimate response.

Soon, though, she was given a choice. Whilst her mouth remained engaged in a syrupy suckle to the exterior of her ‘tormentor’s’ balls, the weight atop her head disappeared, and her ability to think about matters unrelated to cock-stink and semen returned to her.

Even so, she lingered. Precious seconds that she might’ve spent defending herself and her husband were instead spent caressing her tongue against the now gleaming and tasteless pocket of cockflesh she had popped into her mouth. When finally she separated her mouth from Cruz’s shaft, the scowl on her face almost looked sharper for it.

“Don’t call us that!” raising her voice ever so slightly off of its un-invested floor, she leaned in from behind Cruz’s erection to ensure that her anger was understood. “M-My weakness isn’t an excuse for you to speak poorly about a whole race! W-We’re as much people as humans are…

“We’re…

‘The same’. Kaona’s mind generated these words and slated them for delivery by her tongue. As she did, something instinctual grabbed their tail-end and held them within her throat. For every breath of cock-scented air she took, these instincts replaced the composition and tone meant for these utterances until an entirely new end to her sentence took shape.

“We’re worse…” she whispered.

Uncertain as to whether or not she had been heard, both of her hands jumped to her mouth in a display of remorse and embarrassment. Daring herself onward, she glanced up at Cruz in search of evidence one way or another.

There, she found a smile swamped with condescension, and in it, the result that she feared.

Satisfied solely by the visual plummet of Kaona’s mood induced by his expression, Cruz did not carry the subject further. Instead standing to his feet, he briefly reorganized his jogger-clad lower half into a presentable state before turning his attention back to Kaona. Bracing her by her shoulders, he hoisted the pregnant woman back to her feet before addressing her with a downward glance.

“Well, whatever. Anyway, that makes three loads you’ve taken down your throat in the past few hours. You should be able to manage for the rest of the day, right?” he suggested.

Referencing the Pokemon’s acquired dependency on the substance, Kaona was made to recall the depth of the vacancy left within her by Cruz’s recent absence. Several days spent without exposure to or the ingestion of human reproductive fluid had again afflicted her with the only pregnancy craving she could recall having: the muddy and disturbingly-pungent muck fucked from Cruz’s testicles straight into her stomach.

The extent to which she craved the substance grated on her even now. The persistence of ‘emptiness’ within her even after the better part of three stomach-basting orgasms had been squirted into her (the worse parts being fucked from her throat as a slimy lubricant) replayed Cruz’s taunting within her mind, and made her hesitant to simply allow him to separate from her.

Perhaps she really had lacked any sort of hope to begin with.

“I-I don’t think I need anything, but…” beginning cordially she turned her head downward. Intentionally ‘overlooking’ the soaked and smeared expanse of her breast-swelled blouse, she stared at the floor as she spoke so as to not give away clues about her state from her face. “What do you even have to do? I thought the only reason you were here w-was…”

Already on his way to the kitchen, Cruz’s stride came to a sudden halt partway through Kaona’s response. Being a child, he quite easily turned, and inquired with genuine innocence as to her meaning.

“Was what?”

“ _Me…”_ Kaona mumbled.

“What?”

“I thought the reason that you came here today was so that you could use me!”

Just as Kaona pushed these words from out of her lips, a more highly-pitched parroting of the word appeared from out of the corner of the living room.

“Me-Me-Meeeee!” Anya chirped, arms flung in apparent celebration.

Avidly repeating the word that she had heard her mother stress, the sun-dress clad Kirlia pattered from her hiding place at the corner of the living room’s left-side over to a position directly in front of her mother. Transitioning from her arrival straight into a thoughtless hug of her chest against the ample swell of her mother’s thighs, she continued smiling and squeaking as though her life depended on it.

“Me-Me-Me!”

Within several affectionate nuzzles to her mother’s legs (nuzzles whose fervor reaped an affirmative hug of her mother’s hands to her back), the developing girl wracked her brain in search of the word that might convey the reason for her sudden entrance.

Gifted with a mind as impressive as her mother’s had been at the age of some number that your boy would rather not state, her search began and ended over the course of a pair of blinks from the adult’s that surrounded her.

“Me, luunch!” she repeated. “Miiiiilk~!”

With these words, Kaona’s confusion and concern regarding her daughter’s presence were replaced by another flare of the parental instincts bred into her being. Frantically peeling pubic hair from the greased exterior of her cheeks, she bent her knees, and dipped her front as far forward as the gravidity of her stomach would allow. Granted just enough ‘give’ to guide her arms to her daughter’s hips, she expertly scooped the chirping child up into an affectionate length-wise cradle across her front. 

The moment she affirmed it, fear saw her shift her hold on her frame into a familiar width-wise cradle. For as much as she wished to wean her off of the infantile support style (as well as the narrowed distance to her ‘lunch’ that came alongside it), face to face contact with her daughter was not a risk that she was willing to take.

“She can’t smell it. I can’t let her smell it. Who knows what it’ll do to her brain...” she thought, her inner tone more dire than it had ever been for herself.

Naturally, her organizing Anya’s body this way provided the near-infant with everything that she required to feed herself. Rolling inward to bring her face opposite the gratuitous puffiness of her mother’s chest, she reached up with what would become her dominant hand to tug at the collar of Kaona’s shirt. Eager to begin on the arduous task of exposing the sweetly-scented flesh of her mother’s breasts, Anya learned quickly that the strength of her grasp and the downward tugging motion she had learned could not disrobe her mother at present.

This realization welled tears within the girl’s eyes, and moments later, pushed a sound wail from the back of her throat.

Briefly, Cruz was left as baffled by Anya’s sobbing as her mother. Staring at the two of them, he could not bring himself to regard them as an adult female cocksleeve and her recently born nuisance. Their appearance was so innocuous—so natural—that his mind sternly matched them with the very definition of maternal compassion.

For a time, of course.

Seconds proved the extent of the wispy-haired child’s compassion. Past this point, his mind took their appearance as a solute for the minor impasse that they had bumped into. Halting his retreat from the living room, he again turned to face Kaona—this time with hands ‘innocently’ wrapped behind his back.

“Haha, like mother like daughter, huh?” he teased. “Seeing as you're both hungry for something, how about we handle both at the same time? That way I don’t have to cook, and Anya doesn’t have to wait for her Mommy to finish eating.”

Utterly ignorant as to the noises coming from Cruz’s mouth, Anya rolled her features towards him solely because he had made noise.

Wary, Kaona did so not out of curiosity, but as a result of hunger and anxiety.

“What do you mean? S-She’s hungry; I have to feed her before anything else, so just forget what I said, okay?” she stammered.

“Forget it? After hearing you ask for it like a pouty little girl? That’d be kinda cruel on my end, don’t you think?”

“Cruel or not, it doesn’t matter! This is MY decision! I-I have to look after her—“

“And you’re gonna.”

Unwilling to entertain Kaona’s best attempt at hysteria, Cruz used the duration of her response to make his way back around the couch to her side. Once close by, he again made use of the sore difference between their heights to reach down, and affectionately pat at the grown woman’s head.

“Sure, the two of you are the same breed of disposable SEPH fucktoy. That doesn’t mean I can’t try and look after you properly from time to time, does it?” Cruz suggested.

“Just trust me. Everything will turn out for the best.”

Try as she might to see the obvious ambiguities in Cruz’s words, Kaona took a sickening amount of comfort in Cruz’s words. This too was a feeling that she was predisposed to, but given the situation, there remained little excuse for it.

Little, but just enough to validate utter compliance from a Pokemon attached to her ‘trainer’.

-

**EQUALITY DYNAMICS BY CRUZ**

Kaona did not expect Cruz to keep to his word without some kind of ‘catch’. Her time spent interacting with the youth had taught her that attempting to hold him to such a standard was likely to end in disappointment and discomfort on her end.

Funnily enough, the actions he took following his claim surprised her. Hands infused with a congenial warmth and masculine strength* (as a consequence of her body size, even mild prompting felt to her as legitimate direction), he guided her back atop the sofa she had lounged at by her shoulders. All but placing her up against it, he afterwards released her in apparent anticipation of her doing ‘what needed to be done’.

Though concerned as to what her doing so would reap, she did not pass up her opportunity to satiate her squirming daughter. Again reaffirming her cradle of Anya’s frame, she briefly dipped a hand away from the child’s back. Pressing it through to the lower hem of her blouse, she peeled the garment the meagre length off her midsection, and finally over the compressed (yet still protruding) swell of her breasts. Doing so with Anya’s body held so closely against her chest eventually resulted in the pale, puffy mounds at her chest flopping outwards into partial coverage of the little girl’s frame. Wisely amending the situation with another adjustment of her position, Kaona slid Anya upwards and inwards until her mouth sat opposite the fraction of cleavage where her left nipple ought’ve been.

In place of this was a square-shaped medical plaster whose material had darkened from fluid absorption. Placed across both of her nipples for the sole purpose of stemming the soak of milk into her clothing, Kaona did not hesitate to peel its loosened adhesion from off of her inverted nipple and the drooling milk ducts that surrounded it.

Upon exposing herself, sensations both expected and otherwise assaulted her. A stab of Anya’s skull plugged her lips full of the leaking breast flesh placed by her mouth. As children were want to, she immediately worked her mouth to begin drawing the creamy fluid stored within the mound into her mouth.

Before she could acclimate herself to the soothing fulfilment inherent to ‘motherhood’, Kaona felt her center of gravity inverted, and afterwards invalidated. Reflexively tightening her grasp on Anya’s frame, she failed to trace the exact cause for her frame’s repositioning until it was self-effacing.

Left with the back of her skull settled against the couch-cushion she had sat atop, focusing her line of sight revealed Cruz’s frame crouched imposingly above her own. Bundled within his left hand were the calf-sections of both of her legs—the means by which he had turned her pregnant frame onto its head. By raising both of the limbs off of the ground and pushing them into backwards bend, he had effectively tied and hung her as a porcine awaiting slaughter.

Kaona well knew that death was not the primary concern she ought to harbor in this position. Hands occupied in maintaining her daughter’s comfort and legs trapped by a strength that she could not surmount, the only protection left for the rounded swell of life at her middle was the thin layer of blouse fabric spread over it.

As a mother, such a circumstance was unacceptable.

“A-Cruz, wait! T-This is bad for them, isn’t it?” she stammered, concern for her children overwhelming her concern for herself. “B-Being upside down is…”

Without warning, the slide of the ankle-length leggings that clothed her lower body across her rear and off the tip of her toes cut her desire to speak short. Suddenly, the arousal-swelled mound between her miniature legs was wholly exposed to the boy above her alongside the fattened, visibly-overused donut of anus flesh behind it. Around Cruz, being exposed to such an extent was dangerous.

_“But so fulfilling as well, don’t you think?”_

Again, action from Cruz cut Kaona’s time to form a response in half. Swiftly, the warmed air that surrounded her womanhood and asshole was replaced by the stifling haze of hormones and temperature exuded by Cruz’s cock. All of the ease with which he had undressed her had been applied to the sweatpants at his lower-body, thus unearthing the steadily-fattening log of cockmeat that miniatures ago sat inches away from her stomach.

With this, the over-arching ‘purpose’ behind her suitor’s actions became clear.

As if silently in-tune with her level of perception, Cruz responded to her initial outburst nevertheless.

“Anya isn’t the only one that’s hungry, Kaona…” he began. “You wanted to eat too, didn’t you? This way, the two of you can eat what you want without getting into each other’s way.

“I mean, look,” pointing down at her chest with a finger from his right hand, he referenced Anya’s unchanged cradle at her chest, and the indifference with which she regarded the change in her position. “She looks fine, doesn’t she?”

“B-But the baby…

“Suya i-is going to come soon. I-If you use me down there now, you’ll just—HIYYYUGHHH~♥”

This time, that which stopped the older woman’s reasonable complaining was a furrowing of her brow equally grounded between stress and pleasure, a gritting of her teeth, and the squeeze of a strained groan of stimulation out from the back of her throat.

All of these things were the product of a sudden downward plunge of Cruz’s crotch, and the sound, sphincter-greasing compression of several inches of grossly-oversized cockmeat into the welcoming looseness and humidity of her asshole.

Relative to Cruz, Kaona’s frame represented little more than an oversized stuffed animal wrought from a local carnival. Typically, the difference in their heights, limb-sizes, and weight exacerbated the stimulation generated by her penetration to a mind-rotting extent capable of direct ‘contact’ with her bred instincts as a Seph.

Having her asshole penetrated in this manner was different. Backed by gravity, her upturned frame had been forced to accept a grotesquely-thick forearm of cockmeat through its sex-sensitive rectum straight to a stretching of the intestines past it. So quickly and deeply was she skewered that her purpose in life—represented by Anya, Suya, and their well-being—was ground down to a superfluous, and ultimately forgettable triviality.

With Cruz’s cock inside her, this purpose was brought into conflict with one that she, her mother, and her mother before that had been made to harbor within themselves by virtue of their birth.

She was to serve her master as a receptacle for his young and semen. No matter how she wished it whilst sober, her instincts as a mother could not stand to parity with the size and span of this desire.

It never had for her kind, and in truth, it likely never would…

-

**SHOUTOUTS TO JAPAN**

Kaona loved her circumstance. She knew she ought not, but it spoke to her in a way that nothing within her rigid, ‘purposeful’ existence had thus far. What was done to her body, the regressive ideas that were branded to her brain—no matter how horrid, she loved all of it.

Admitting as much to herself had come quite easily. From the very first time she had felt Cruz’s cock sink inside her, her mind and womanhood were left so fundamentally smitten that she wasted no time waffling as to whether or not it was something she could resist. For her, entertaining the organ-displacing phalluses wielded by humans and having her insides made a clogged incubator for their seed was as basal for her as breathing.

Now, the wide blanket of activities that she ‘loved’ was made to stretch over the act of having the depths of her asshole pile-driven by a cock nearly as thick as her waist was wide. With time, she was pushed further in admitting that the sensation of such a cock being dunked in and out of the moist squirming of her puffy shithole _underneath_ her occupied womb was even better than having it gaped naturally.

These were not concessions that the sexualized Pokemon made without reason. From Cruz’s initial penetration of her rear and the organ-fattening delivery of his member through her guts, a regular (and sloppy) up and down pumping pattern saw her bloated insiders punched and stretched at regions where they were most sensitive.

Calling the delivery of these thrusts and the consequences reaped from them ‘obscene’ was nearly a misnomer. From her initial impalement, a single cycle of depression and extraction drove a tree-trunk of throbbing cockmeat down through nearly a foot of her intestines. Each inch in this foot made to wrap and suckle around the trunk’s girth (and the meaty, root-like blood vessels embedded into it), both the thickness of Cruz’s cock and its typical virility were ironed into her depths with a familiar brutality.

Once hilted, these qualities were drawn up the same stretch of inches a second time throughout Cruz’s retractions. During these instances, her insides sought suffering for themselves as opposed to meekly accepting it. Visually, each outward drag of Cruz’s member through her cratered asshole was accompanied by a gloving of bubble-gum pink intestine flesh to his member’s exterior. Adhered to the phallus’ surface by the gratuitous amounts of sexual ‘glue’ present within her bowels (a potent mixture of precum, sweat, and sexual mucus), Kaona’s guts lovingly cradled the topmost inches of his shaft even as they threatened to abandon the orifice entirely.

Though lengthy, the extent to which Cruz withdrew his member through Kaona’s asshole was not so wild as to tease legitimate extraction as a real possibility. At the root of each of his thrusts was a consistency that served their ultimate ‘impact’ more so than any other qualities. Without fail, a hilt-depth depression that sent his glans into a nauseating-spike against an over-fucked pocket of intestine lining a ways past her asshole’s entrance was followed by an extraction of just over half these inches through the slop-glutted hole. Like this, the top half of his erection consistently remained within Kaona as a vicious pike to be stabbed against the congealed meat settled deepest within her asshole. Equally, the bottom half of his member was put to use in a regular outward peel of her asshole’s needier beginnings.

By this point—nearly two years after she was first ‘treated’ to gut-fucking as delivered by a human cock—Kaona could no longer differentiate the depression of his member from its extraction. The inflammation of the depths of her large intestine into the same mess of fluid and subservient flesh that comprised her shithole’s initial inches had lost its nuance, as had the tooth-chipping prolapse of its ruined, cock-hungry initial inches.

What she perceived amounted solely to an extremely pleasurable loss of brain cells. When Cruz’s cock was at its deepest within her, the stimulation wrought from his penetration grew sharp enough to rob her perception of the world's quality and color. As he pulled himself outward, these lost facets returned as dulled iterations of themselves, and prompted a greedy anticipation for the next midsection-rending hilt of his cock into her intestines. To her, everything was a haze. A destructive, addictive, and obscenely pleasurable haze.

The simplification of her perception was not an act of self-defence or rebellion against that which she experienced. She had been born without such self-preservation instincts where humans were concerned, though this aside, her flesh had already learned to love the strenuous stretching and fattening her body endured whilst serving as a fleshlight for human cock.

Truthfully, it was a product of circumstance. As mentioned above, the pace and quality of Cruz’s thrusts were accompanied by visual consequences of a comparable obscenity. From these visual consequences Kaona’s senses reaped a stimulation that reduced all others forced onto her into a nondescript haze.

Most immediate to her line of sight was her daughter. Content to drain milk from the obese thimble of nipple flesh within her mouth, she did so with the same adoring expression and stillness she had projected when first cradle against her mother.

By itself, seeing her innocent, sun-dressed frame as presented in the midst of a dedicated feeding would have delivered pangs of guilt into Kaona’s heart. As presented just above cock-shaped contortions of her mother’s stomach via sexual intercourse, a disgusting satisfaction filled Kaona each time she dared to glance at her middle.

Below Anya was a midsection warped to represent the repeated addition of a second, larger mass of flesh within her. At the end of any given one of Cruz’s thrusts, his endowment could be seen distending the flesh of her midsection from the peak of her crotch to the peak of her abdominals. Forced to curve around the globular swell of her womb throughout its ascent, its arrival at the ‘stopping point’ imposed by the end of her abdominals saw the region’s solid-white flesh stretched upward and outward away from her body-cavity in accommodation of his glans and the inches of cockmeat beneath it.

From its general shape to its extent, the bloating of her middle was a product of her asshole’s penetration over her cunt. Though the former orifice was equally overwhelmed by Cruz’s cock, its flexibility and placement allowed for the ‘accommodation’ of his masculinity without a displacement of the growing life within her womb.

Over and over again was Kaona made to watch this curved distention grow through her middle to its hellish, flesh-stretching utmost. Through it, she viewed the throbbing of Cruz’s cock against the flesh of her uterus, and on occasion, a fussy shift of the developed egg within her in response to the squeezing and prodding imposed by his member’s very presence.

Thus, no matter how impossibly brutal the fucking of her intestines became, its qualities would never compare to what the observation of her middle inflicted on her mind. In this sight alone could be seen her stature as a mother and individual. So dependent was she on the stimulation and semen of another species that she could not be brought to prioritize the life that had been rooted within her womb over a ‘feeding’.

No mother would commit such an atrocity, nor would a Pokemon woman supposedly bent on holding to the traditions and progressions of her people. Only a smiling, powerless whore for her human betters would accept such a circumstance in return for pleasure.

This was what she was. She could not see her own face, but she could feel it.

She was smiling. Through tears of joy and exertion’s perspiration, she smiled wider than she had at any other point in her life.

More so than when she had married her husband.

More so than when her daughter had been born.

And more so than she ever would.

-

“Y-YOU’RE BREAKING M-MY ASSHOLE ♥. T-THE B-BABIES MOVIN’ T-THE BABIES MOVIN’ ‘CCUASE-NNHHHGGH CAUSE—

“C-CAUSE YOUR M-MASTURBATING WITH M-MY TUMMY ~! Sh-shoppp B-BEIN’ S-SUCH A BULLLYIIII.”

Alongside the squeals of bliss and breathless huffs that dribbled from Kaona’s maw, vocal gems such as these flowed from the female’s Pokemon’s mouth straight into Cruz’s ears.

Alone, hearing these things spoken by a woman that denounced his vitriol towards her race would have kept his hips to their pendulum-like swing, and his crotch to its up and down plunge against her lower body.

Presently, they represented only the icing on the ‘cake’ of his experience. In committing himself to ‘feeding’ Kaona through her asshole, he had earned and consumed layer after layer of the pastry until only the best of it remained.

As was so often the case where his feeding of Kaona was concerned, the means by which he earned his meal had been as worthwhile as the nourishment itself. With the first drive of his member down into her asshole came the arrangement of his frame into a position best suited to take advantage of the differences between them.

Inverting Kaona atop the couch and pushing her raised and ankle-conjoined legs forward as one might a trapped animal left the support of her weight to her upper back, shoulders, and neck. As all three of these regions were backed by the cushioning of the couch beneath her, he inferred that one could safely—not comfortably—impose a downward-angled thrusting pattern without risking irreparable damage to her dollish frame.

Cruz did exactly this. Stamping the midsection of his right foot into the front most rim of the couch whilst bracing his left on the floor for support, the disappearance of his cock within her asshole saw him leverage his body weight in the delivery of a curved, gut-wrenching anal breeding reticent of stud’s insemination of a too-small mare.

To reiterate, his maintaining this thrusting pattern had earned him stimulation from a variety of sources. Receptive to the heat and girth of his shaft no matter how it invaded her folds, Kaona’s asshole did well in producing its usual excess of lubrication and applying it to the surface of his member. With the murky slime’s over production came a slogged adherence of her intestines to his cock, and more notably, complex discharges of their mixed fluids from out her bruised sphincter as his cock was fed through it. The force of the initial portion of his thrusts sent heavy arcs of the substance through languid bursts from the corners of her fattened sphincter. Towards a full hilt, a muddy burble of the substance could be seen clattering from the peak of her depressed shithole, and heard from what fractions of the orifice he couldn’t see. Not only did the substance’s expulsion ease his member’s domination of her guts, but watching as her tiny frame was made to regurgitate it in such blatant fashion made the pulsing of his member much more pleasurable.

More prevalent than even this was Kaona’s condition. A glance downward at the Pokemon depicted a mother’s perfectly maintained cradle of her suckling daughter to her chest. Stains—some fresh and others double-layered from their previous engagement—could be seen strewn out across the neck-wise portions of her blouse whilst the flow of breast milk from out of her still-covered nipple had utterly dampened the fabric to her chest’s right.

Above the dishevelled remains of her clothing were facial features fit for them. Orgasmic, yet equally debilitated by mental and physically strain, her visage was that of a woman at her limit. Eyes crossed inward, the state of her mouth and brow shifted regularly to match the depth to which her asshole was penetrated by cock. At his deepest, Cruz saw her jaw clench, and subsequently transition into a mouth-piece rounded for the production of a squeal. Whilst sliding outwards, flutters of her eyelids were combined with a careless lolling of her tongue from out of her mouth. In the former could be seen her genetic hunger for abuse and her body’s pleas against it whereas the latter framed what catharsis she garnered from being ‘emptied’.

  
At no point throughout his ministrations were either of these expression sets inappropriate. Given that which her body endured—an excavation of her intestines, the serpentine drive of a cock through the digestive tubing underneath her womb, or the creamy orgasms flushed from her fattened cuntlips by their combined irritation of her innards—the perversion and abandon that they displayed were appropriate.

Just as well, the sight of these faces and the knowledge that his actions were responsible for them contributed considerably to the weight of the load growing within the base of Cruz’s crotch.

With time, the combined sources from which the youth ate set his sights on the primary course of his meal, and coincidentally, Kaona’s.

Once again leaning into his thrusts so as to bring his face closer to Kaona’s, he pushed yet another harmless smile across his sweat-drenched features with the intention of informing her as such.

“…You’ve waited nice and patiently to get fed this time around, Kaona.” he noted, voice thinned by exertion and the pornographic *CLOP-CLOP-CLOP* of his crotch to her own. “You’re usually a lot greedier. I’m not saying that’s weird: the only thing your insides know how to do is squeeze and beg for human cock juice.

“Still, you’re being awfully compliant today. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that little Anya is here this time…”

As much pensive as inquisitive, the veil of ignorance that he donned may very well have held were the woman he wished to deceive not already stuffed with his cock. Recognizing his attempt at subterfuge as superfluous, he shrugged off the veil with another dumping of his crotch. Actively curving his lower body through another hilting of his shaft within Kaona’s asshole, he afterwards set his facial features alight as if he had realized something.

“Oh, I get it! This is you trying to teach her how **sharing** works, isn’t it? Greedily draining load after load of cock juice into yourself with her around would be setting a bad example, huh?”

_“F-Feed…”_

“What’s that? Did I guess right?”

_“P-Please feed me…”_

Teased to her very limit by the persistent swelling and throbbing of the cock within her, Kaona forced words through a maw loosened by bliss.

_“I-I can’t a-anymore n’I’m g-gonna die…” she hiccupped. “P-Please dump it all inside me. P-Pump your smelly dick milk inside me until m-my stomach c-can’t digest anything else…”_

Despite its timid volume, Cruz perceived this utterance as clearly as Kaona’s natural speech. He heard her, and yet feigned ignorance to serve the agenda he had presented at the outset of the female Pokemon’s abuse.

“Sorry, didn’t really catch that. I get the idea, though: you wanna teach Anya how generosity works for your kind.” he replied. “If that’s the case…

Against his own frame’s protesting, Cruz drew his crotch outwards and a handful of inches of his member alongside it. Holding himself in place as quivering intestine flesh fussed at his exit, he held himself still, and spoke.

**“Who am I to get in your way?”**

-

**LOSS**

Cruz’s misinterpretation of Kaona’s words did not make the final thrust he pressed into her any less effective in achieving her ends. With this depression came another winding disappearance of his member into the warmth of her asshole, and another grinding slide of his intestine-wrapped member through orifice flesh smothered underneath a pregnant uterus. Again was his glans delivered into a squeeze against a sex-loosened stretch of intestine flesh, and again did its swelling subject the region to a momentary ‘bloating’ against the distended flesh of her stomach.

Coaxed out by the renewal of these conditions was a strenuous beginning to the youth’s orgasm. A split-second of his urethra’s swelling and contorting with discolored cock juice ended with a pressurized shot of the off putting muck being delivered directly against the stretched intestine-lining that blanketed the nose of his erection.

On delivery—a vile splatter of primarily-white and seemingly curdled semen against a too-small pocket and back out against the phallus responsible for shooting it— the contrast between the size of his endowment and Kaona’s frame was touched upon for the umpteenth time.

After the first jet of semen to squirm its way up Cruz’s length basted the gutmeat assigned to it with seed, the contents of those that followed it were denied placement within the same semen-glutted pocket. Instead, their volumes were flushed through the length of Kaona’s intestines in search of fuckmeat ‘unoccupied’ by grimy sperm cells. The steaming reproductive blubber acted this way not by choice, but by necessity. So thoroughly fattened was the pocket opposite Cruz’s glans that the delivery of additional semen against the region was nastily repulsed toward the ‘openness’ offered by the remainder of Kaona’s bowels.

Like this, Cruz’s erection took on the role of a resvoir source whereas Kaona’s intestines assumed the role of a hose. Each volume of jizz puked from the head of his member fed an explosion of chunked semen through her guts. Subsequent strings of ejaculate filled in the putrid shrapnel coating, then coated over it until the stretch in question was made rigid and heavy with semen. Then, the process began anew. With nowhere else to go, the continued outflow of semen from Cruz’s length forced the engorgement of her intestines to continue up the sprawling organ toward Kaona’s stomach.

Externally, the repeated chain of smearing and stuffing that played out within her was expressed visually and auditorily. Throbs and quivers from the shaft stretching her middle provided insight as to the size of the semen strands pumped into her whilst the *GLORP* noises timed to them conveyed the inundation of her guts with a substance sloppy, protein-riddled, and virile.

Unsurprisingly, evidence of the latter-most quality was that which Kaona attended to. Winded and dumbstruck by the first caking of her asshole with semen, the noises associated with it were easier to attend to than raw visuals.

This was not to say that she was without a clear understanding of her cream-filling, however.

_“F-Full…._

_“I-I’m d-drinking d-down cock juice w-with my asshole. H-ahhh_ _♥ Hahhh_ _♥ h-human s-semen is b-breeding my a-asshole…”_ she murmured, voice breathless and subdued. “ _B-Being a c-cum-dumpster feels g-good. I-I c-can’t hate bein’ treated like this…_

_“T-This is better…_

_“B-Better thn’ s-stupid customs, b-better thn’ my h-husband’s worthless jizz, b-better thn everything_ ♥ _.”_ She huffed.

Though euphoric in his own right, Cruz’s condition was not so bogged down by stimulation as to overlook the words that left his neighbour’s lips. Listening intently throughout labored groans of his own, the passage of a particular sentence between her lips prompted him to focus on her as opposed to the masculine fulfillment drowning his brain.

“So that’s what you think about it? Arthur would be so disappointed…” he exhaled.

“Anyway, if that’s the case, you shouldn’t be keeping everything to yourself, Kaona.” he suggested. “Don’t you remember? You were going to **share** this experience with Anya, weren’t you?”

“Ah, never mind. Here, let me give you a hand…”

Quite familiar with Kaona’s propensity to forget herself whilst semen surged through her innards, Cruz did not wait for her input on how to proceed with her demonstration of ‘sharing’. Reaching in towards the underside of her thighs, he clasped his right palm to the white-ish green flesh of Kaona’s thigh. This done, he began peeling his crotch backwards from its sandwiching against her own whilst simultaneously applying a downward pressure onto her frame with his hand. Holding her in place throughout a haggard and messy drag of his endowment through her innards, his efforts brought the entirety of his shaft (and the translucent cream-coating affixed to it) out from a asshole depressed, cratered, and visibly inundated with semen from the smearing of its mouth to the puffy pink meat visible deep within it. Behind the wet *PLORP* that signalled its exit came a gurgle, and finally a lazy expulsion of backed up semen from the destroyed orifice onto the floor beneath it.

Given the size of this expulsion, the state of Kaona’s asshole, and the more uniform roundness at her stomach, one could reasonably assume that the entirety of Cruz’s orgasm as having been squeezed into her stomach.

In this case, one such person would assume incorrectly. Poised upwards towards Kaona’s face and the child still suckling at her breast was an erection still in the midst of spewing semen. Though the target of the ropes spat from it had changed, the product of their delivery was the same as it always had been: an unsightly caking of stinking semen to a variety of surfaces.

One after another, especially thick strands of semen were dumped into a varied smearing of the area encompassed by Kaona’s face and chest. Initially, strands of muck were draped vertically from her forehead straight down to the much-smaller facial features of the child at her chest. Soon, though, these vertical deliveries were replaced by a messier clotting of thicker expulsions to differing sections of her face altogether. Though Anya’s facial features were intentionally ‘missed’ by these slug-thick wads, her apparent indifference to the substance and her placement below her mother’s face resulted in her features acquiring a chunked glaze comparable to her mother’s.

Tragically, semen again proved the sole ‘thing’ that Kaona was willing to respond to. Taking the matting of semen arcs across her face and the stinging redness applied to her eyes as a call to action, she abruptly released her cradle of Anya’s back and sent her hands upwards towards the near-infant's skull.

Then came words spoken from her mind to her body.

“If you do this, you’ll be just as bad as him.” she thought to herself. “You’d be spitting on everything you were taught as a girl, and everything you’ve lived for as an adult.

“And you know what else? **You’ll have to live with the consequences for the rest of your life.** ”

Her frame could no longer be dragged back. Freed from their apprehensive trembling, Kaona’s hands oriented Anya’s skull to face the remainder of Cruz’s orgasm, and afterwards slid downward to deliver her index fingers into the opposing corners of her mouth.

And she pulled.


	2. With Or Without You, Life Moves On

**SEPH BIOLOGY: A HISTORY**

In the decades that followed the attribution of human rights to sentient Pokemon, medical research unconcerned with the reproduction of their genetics was called for, and thereafter funded by a number of prominent world governments.

Forging a world rooted in ‘equality’ from a world founded on the division of humans and Pokemon into the classes of ‘Master’ and ‘Servant’ necessitated such research. If Sentient and Humanoid Pokemon (henceforth SEPH) were to be respected and valued as individuals, knowledge as to how to dole out said respect—respect of their bodies, minds, and developmental trajectories—seemed to societal leaders as strong a start point as any. Thus, resources previously devoted to the mass breeding of a variety of species were redirected into studies concerning their qualities as a sentient race.

Several years of sanctioned inquiry into the subject and collaboration with integrated SEPH proved sufficient in answering a number of previously ignored questions concerning the humanized species. While varied in certain aspects per species, all of the information drawn from the years-long research process touched upon the same areas of interest.

  
Depicted below is a summary of the ‘areas of interest’ concerned with the Ralts line. It can be considered as an example of the condensed report structure for all research concerning a given species.

**SUMMARY FOR PUBLIC DIGESTION—MORE DETAILED BIOLOGICAL AND STATISTICAL INFORMATION CAN BE OBTAINED FROM (URL) WITH REFERENCE CODE (RALTS NUMBER)**

**Male/Female Physiology** : Though the average stature and build of the Ralts species has remained largely unchanged, females, as a consequence of their prevalence within the population, are often subject to a wider variance in height and build. Females born into any one of the three evolutionary stages are typically 1.5x to 2.0x larger than their male partners in both height and weight. Unbalanced hormonal excretions from their feminine attributes often exacerbates growth in these regions, thereby forcing the rest of their body to grow and compensate.

In relation to the standardized STAT measure, females of the species dwarf males in VIT and SP.DEF, and are born with extreme deficiencies in every other statistical measure. The cause of this is understood to be a consequence of the outlawed breeding practices that birthed the initial SEPH generation. For maximum birth yields, STAT balances such as these were considered as an acceptable point of concession in return for fertility.

**Developmental Expectancies** : Along with their extreme intelligence, Ralts and Kirlia children acquire relative physical and mental maturity after an infantile stage lasting up to 2 years. After this period, children spend 8 years within an adolescence comparable to the ages of 12-18 in human years. Though females are often reproductively capable (physically and mentally) from their 3rd year, the average age for full maturity for both genders is 10. Further education and social interaction is required past this point for them to adopt what humans understand as adult emotional and behavioural patterns. As such, the education of such children has been placed in tentative congruence with that of human children.

And so on and so forth...

The majority of these findings served as the backbone for the development of individual ‘Species Rights’ charters, and other more broad spectrum laws as to how Pokemon Persons ought to be treated . Generally speaking, the public accepted this information with open arms. The creation of specialized education plans for SEPH children stirred no protest, and the adjustment of public services to meet the needs of society’s new members was nodded at as a gesture long overdue.

Others still took these findings as grounds for the creation of clear points of societal division between humans and Pokemon. Hardliners representing the Pokemon League Traditionalists (henceforth PLT) argued that these findings ought to be used in reparation for the Pokemon Trainers whose professions were destroyed by the global ban on the practice of battling. Knowing their cause to be one frowned upon by government and public alike, the demands that they placed were grounded in a form of ‘extremist reality’ meant to appeal to the sensibilities of the common man.

For example:

_“SEPH should not have their command-response conditioning taught out of them by some education system. The ability to perform moves on command has been fundamental to their existence for too long for it to be simply taught out of them in the first place. In the event of war or, heaven forbid, the reinstatement of Pokemon Battling in some form, preserving access to what fractions of their move-pools they cannot access themselves is vital.”_

Less than two decades into the hard-wrought ‘peace’ granted by equality, global legislators caved to this demand (or some form of it) in one manner or another. More so intent on keeping society from tearing apart at its thinned seams, representatives from the PLT, elected government officials representing the public, and officials from the then-autonomous SEPH rights movement met to discuss terms that might satisfy all sides equally.

What was decided amongst the three was not announced publicly. Nevertheless, its product remains a little known fraction of the SEPH rights charter written into law. Largely ignored by the general public and purposefully obscured by those in power, its existence was allowed a progressive slippage from the minds of those that it concerned over the course of several decades.

At present, the general public stands as happily—and often intentionally—unaware of the act, and instead favors the ‘strides’ made by their ancestors in the smoothing of relations between Pokemon and Humans as the focal point of the past.

The truth is not explicitly hidden, however. If one wished to, laying eyes on the details that incriminate the lawmakers of the past would be no more difficult than consistently combing through a very long and boring online document.

You know—the exact sort of thing that one would expect a child **not** to do.

-

**3.5 YEARS FOLLOWING THE BIRTH OF SUYA REDD—THE REDD ESTATE—LATE SUMMER**

Once again within a house free from the summer’s lingering heat, Cruz’s lean through his neighbors’ front door ended with a quiet exhalation as opposed to an announcement of his entrance. Recently freed from an affair that had formalized his choice of dress whilst simultaneously drawing his wits thin and ragged, his mind chose to focus on the fulfillment of the responsibilities he had taken for himself (these being his self-imposed visits he paid to the Redd family) over their being fulfilled properly.

Sluggish and sweaty, the youth shuffled his way through the house in search of these responsibilities. Finding the lobby and living room curiously devoid of its usual culprits, his legs mechanically bent his winding path of progression into the kitchen.

At its mouth, he faced a space familiar, but unusually dark. Less than a full step into its confines, this darkness was replaced by familiar shapes and sounds—all before he could so much as blink.

“Congratulations on getting into middle school, Cruz!!!” a trio of voices chimed. “We know you’ll do great!”

With both light and memory at his disposal, Cruz dissolved his astonishment into a mild bout of flattered bashfulness.

Ahead of him stood the females of the Redd family, each lending their hands to the support of a plated cake.

Kaona—the Gardevoir at the group’s center—assumed the majority of the dish's support. Taller than both of her daughters at 4 feet and 11 inches in height, she had intentionally lowered her hands to bring the plated pastry down to a height that her daughters’ hands could contribute to. In doing so, the upper half of her body and the grown swell of her G-cup bust against the thin, long-sleeve black blouse that clothed it were made almost as apparent as the cake itself. Given the inviting smile that held across the matronly Pokemon’s face, Cruz could only assume that this level of exposure was intentional.

To either side of Kaona were Kirlia very much reminiscent of the woman that had given birth to them. Differentiated from one another by their heights, choice of dress, and the organization of the pale-green ‘helmets’ that adorned their skulls into personally selected hairstyles, both girls were very much recognizable as different from the other.

To the left was Anya. At just over 3 and a half feet, she did not need to perk up onto her tip toes to aid her mother in supporting the cake they had created together. The height it had been lowered down to perfectly suited her own, as well as the span of her arms—contribution was no more difficult than raising her arms to chest height, smiling, and ensuring that her standing posture did not obscure the gelatinous bust of her school uniform nor the highly-cut, lower hem of its skirt.

Expectedly, Suya’s contribution to Cruz’s overall ‘surprise’ was the most minimal, yet also the most heartfelt. Just under 3 feet in height, stretching from both of her arms and a balancing act on the toeless fronts of her feet was required for her hands to touch the plate that her mother had secured. Bogged down by her own pair of D-Cup breasts (largely compressed underneath a youth-sized t-shirt) and a body structure otherwise without the appreciable plumpness offered by her mother and sister, the act seemed to require a considerable amount of exertion for her frame. Occasionally did she teeter at her mother’s side, but never did she fall away from contributing alongside her family.

From these three, such effortful action was hardly surprising. Even so, the seconds that followed the burst of light and sound that they had created moved Cruz to a bashful smile, and a defensive drop of his gaze toward the floor.

“Dad really can’t stop talking about this school thing, huh?” he exhaled, a weary quality to his voice. Aimlessly tousling the hair at the back of his head, several seconds of embarrassed smiling at the ground eventually drew his features back upwards to face the Pokemon at his front.

“I would’ve told you guys earlier, but I thought it’d make more sense if I came over here after getting my uniform and stuff. So much for me surprising you guys I guess…”

Fueled by the youth’s earnest confession, each of the Pokemon at his front broke away from one another. Both Anya and Suya traded their positions at Kaona’s side for positions hugging up to the opposing halves of his body. Totally indifferent to the compression of their ample cleavage against these regions, their leap into contact with him was followed by the direction of two innocent and excited stares up at his face. Were one not explicitly aware of the differences between Pokemon and humans, one could easily imagine the gestures as those that two daughters might subject their father to.

Such was the appearance of their actions, anyway.

“C’mon, Cruz! Getting surprised is something you’re suppos’ta smile about, remember?” Anya chirped. “You’re always here helping out for whatever reason! The least you could do is let us surprise you with somethin’ nice sometimes!”

Shifting her earnest gaze into a mischievous smile, a curious lean by the Kirlia onto her front foot saw even more of her perpetually-heated cleavage mashed against Cruz's left arm and ribcage. Not far behind her mother's more proportional G-Cups, the F-Cup meat that Anya sported added a distinctly perverse quality to her school-uniform's blouse. Per usual, though, her attention sat far removed from the obvious sexuality she exuded.

“ ‘sides, if you wanna blame anyone, it’s gotta be Mom. When she heard you got into the same school as me she went toats crazy!” she teased, head turned backwards to direct a teasing smile at her mother. “It was all “We must do something!” this and “Cruz likes sweets!” that. I kinda wanted to take you out for something nice by myself, but I couldn’t just let her get all the credit for making something, y’know?”

Before Cruz could breathe out a jovial response, a tug from his right side again split his attention between the Kirlia at his front. Nodding in silent confirmation, a flat-faced Suya spoke the moment she found herself to have procured some of Cruz’s attention.

“Me too.” she replied, voice quiet and girlish. “I wanted to help, too. Are you happy, Cruz?”

Quite familiar with both girls and their not-so-indirect attention garnering efforts, Cruz chuckled, and raised both of his hands away from his side. Dropping his palms squarely atop both of their heads, he affectionately patted the regions to feed the bottomless hunger for ‘praise’ that the pair had been born with.

“I am, I am. I just feel a little bad, that’s all.” he replied.

Raising her voice from across the room, a suggestive chuckle rumbled from the back of Kaona’s throat.

“And why is that, Mr.Middle School Student?” she suggested. “You’re not too old to be taken care of, Cruz. You do a lot for all of us, but don’t forget that you’re still biologically younger than Anya and I. That makes you the youngest male in our family—you can’t expect us not to want to spoil you sometimes.” she teased.

“I’ve gotten used to that part, Kaona. I just feel bad for Arthur.” replied Cruz. “Today was his day off; I had thought you guys would’ve gone out to do something as a family or something, y’know? Having you guys stay in to bake just for me makes me feel like I got in the way or something…”

Kaona did not respond to this inquiry. Instead abandoning her dutiful plating of cake slices at the dining table, she strut straight over to a position just behind her two daughters.

Like clockwork, her arrival here incited change. Smoothly and silently, Suya and Anya detached themselves from Cruz’s frame. Whilst Anya remained off to his left, Suya began on a sudden patter towards the kitchen entrance opposite the one Cruz stood at.

By the time Kaona arrived at his right, the reason for the trio’s transition became clear. Unlike Cruz, their senses had detected movement within the house.

“What? And let the kid that is constantly over here making my life easier feel like he isn’t important?” Arthur suggested, miniature frame sliding from out of the kitchen’s opposite entrance. “Modesty is one thing, but you can’t go around thinking every good thing that happens to you is a bad thing for everyone else, Cruz. Where’s the fun in that?”

Steps into his ingress, the woefully underdeveloped adult Pokemon stopped to catch his youngest daughter’s assault of his lower body. Naturally incapable of hoisting her into his arms, he waddled into the kitchen with both of his hands secured against her back and his attention directed back at the adult-sized trio at the other side of the kitchen.

Curiously, their positions defied what his mind’s eye had generated at the outset of trip toward the kitchen. All three of them had already turned to face him, and both Kaona and Anya could be found standing in very close contact with the right and left sides of Cruz’s body.

Shrugging off their organization as coincidental, he continued his explanation without further delay.

“These three couldn’t help themselves when they heard the news; I couldn’t have stopped them if I had tried.” he explained. “That aside, work had me exhausted this morning. Letting them use the day for a surprise let me get some extra sleep, so it really just killed two birds with one stone.

“So relax! It isn’t that often we get to show you how much you mean to all of us, so just for today, why don’t you try celebrating like a normal kid? Extravagant party and a—“

*SCHLK-PLRT-SCHLK-PLRT*

Briefly, a series of barely-audible noises flattened Arthur’s tongue mid-speech. Wet, guttural, and inexplicably frequent, their acuity bent his ears towards potential sources as he approached the larger members of his family. For a moment, his mind ascertained their true source as situated behind Kaona, Cruz, and Anya. However, upon arrival just below the trio, the noises had all but disappeared.

Recognizing that his silence had drawn stares of confusion from his family, the topic in its entirety was flushed from his mind as swiftly as it had been drawn in.

“A-And yeah… extravagant party and all.” he finished. “Anyway, Anya tells me that classes don’t officially start for you guys until next week. You’ve got no excuse, kid. Like it or not, you’re going to drop a day of your usual routine and have some fun.”

On cue, Kaona nodded in agreement to this statement, and put on her warmest smile for Arthur to see.

“You’re exactly right, dear; today should be Cruz’s day.” Keeping her side up against Cruz’s, she leaned forward and drew her smiling features up closer to the blonde youth’s face. “We’ll start with some cake, and after that, we can talk about what to do for the rest of the evening. I’ve already called your father, so you can’t play that card this time!”

Drawing yet another happily exasperated response from Cruz and a teasing giggle from Anya, Kaona’s utterance soothed the air of uncertainty hanging within the kitchen into one of warmth and inevitability. The evening was to be spent amongst the five of them—a change of pace from the foursome typically imposed by Arthur’s absence.

Amongst these five of them, only one stood as ignorant as to this unspoken conclusion. Tugging actively against her father’s slacks, a concerned Suya broke the silence amongst them with protest.

“But Ice-cream….!” neither crying nor whining, the urgency within her voice seemed to suggest that her older peers had forgotten something. “Cake needs ice-cream, daddy. Didn’t you say you’d get some for the cake?”

Momentarily left wide-eyed, a derisive chuckle popped past Arthur’s lips.

“Ah, man. I was, wasn’t I?” he suggested aloud. “Nothing gets by you, huh sweetie?

Sticking to her urgent tugging, Suya nodded her head.

“Can you please go get some? I’ll come too if you want me to...” she requested.

Immediately, Arthur flicked his features upwards to gaze at Kaona. What he received in return was a nod, and from this a response to provide his daughter.

“It’s fine, sweetie. You just stay here with Cruz and your mother—I’ll be back before you know it.” he replied, head shaking in refusal. Subsequently releasing his loving brace of the Kirlia’s back, he stepped backwards to begin on his way out of the kitchen.

“Feel free to start without me, too. With Anya’s sweet-tooth, I know she will anyway, so don’t hold back on my account.”

“I do **not** have a sweet-tooth!”

“Haha, sure you don’t! Back soon!”

With this, Arthur departed from the kitchen, and soon enough from the house entirely.

Coincidental to his exit was the reappearance of the faint squelching noises that had piqued his curiosity minutes prior. This time much louder and wetter, their echo throughout the kitchen again suggested its source as being situated behind Cruz, Kaona, and Anya.

From the beginning, this was precisely where they had come from. Had the male Ralts trusted himself enough to take a short few steps around the stalwart trio, his eyes would have found Cruz’s hands underneath the skirts worn by his wife and daughter, and his fingers engaged in a vigorous, well-lubricated digit-fucking of their orifices.

But he hadn’t looked.

He never would—not whilst Cruz remained every bit the son that his loins refused to sire…

-

**DAMN, THAT’S ROUGH, B. I MEAN, CAKE WITHOUT ICE-CREAM? FUCK THAT SOUNDS WACK.**

The scene that unfolded within the Redd family kitchen following Arthur’s departure greatly deviated from the wholesome image of familial warmth that the man had departed from.

First separating their soaked lower lips from the fingers that Cruz had plugged and stirred within their depths, both Kaona and Anya undressed themselves as quickly as their obscenely-feminine frames would allow. Shamelessly exposing the impossibly-massive breasts at their chests, both left their parted and peeled panties in place prior to a drop down to the floor and an aggressive ingress towards Cruz’s crotch. Both fighting to ensure that their breasts consumed the dominant fraction of the youth’s crotch (and the growing bulge at its center), their ghost-white mounds and the meaty, gelatin-pink nipples affixed to their fronts eventually contributed to the formation of a massive flesh sandwich at the region.

Between the pair, Kaona was the first to recognize that she could not overcome her daughter, nor could her daughter overcome her. Accepting her throbbing real-estate as a ‘mature’ young woman, she swiftly drew her hands upwards to hook her fingers under the waistline of Cruz’s slacks. Dragging the pre-loosened garment downwards, she progressively exposed the growing erection hidden at his crotch until its length and girth demanded that she and Anya move backwards to allow it a proper unfurling from its smothered compression.

With the trunk’s exposure came an all-too-familiar period of transfixed starring and girlishly perverse smiling from the pair. Anya from her infancy and Kaona for nearly 5 years, Cruz’s unwashed erection represented their mutual definitions of happiness and freedom. Fundamentally dumbstruck by the rank scent that it carried and their learned love for the semen undoubtedly swirling within the crotch behind it, neither female moved from out of their squatted ogle until the flow of blood throughout Cruz’s frame fattened his member to the grease-buffed length and girth that they remembered so fondly.

Again, it was Kaona—the veteran young mother who had poisoned her daughter with affection towards human cockmeat—who was first to act in response to this. Reasserting her cleavage’s frontal crease against the left side of Cruz’s loaf-thick erection, she purposed the cup-size she had over her daughter to envelop 60% of his crotch’s surface with her breasts.

When Anya was awoken by the burst of an addiction-rooted orgasm from between her lower lips, her recognition of Kaona’s advance slapped a scowl across her previously cock-drunk features. Immediately smearing her breasts across the remaining span of Cruz’s crotch and enveloping her tawdry portion of his cock between her breasts, she left her features in a dead-on stare at her mother’s.

Unsurprisingly for a teenager, the words silently spoken by the rage threaded into her expression were quickly verbalized by her flared temper.

“God, you are such a bitch, Mom! Today was supposed to be **my** turn to be Cruz’s cock-sleeve!” she complained, the fanged incisors within her mouth flashed for each word that left her lips. “You knew that, but you just **had** to be your greedy, jizz-toilet-self and come up with this celebration cake shit just so I’d have to share!

“All you’ve done since you evolved is fight with me over stuff that we decided when I was a little kid! You’re not the only fuckhole that Cruz has to use anymore, and you’re sure as hell not gonna be the best one for much longer! Try and get in my way as much as you want: in the end, **you’re** gonna be stuck with Dad’s worthless body and **I’m** gonna be the one who gives babies to Cruz like a proper fleshtoilet!” she shouted.

Instinctually, Kaona met Anya’s disrespectful aggressiveness in kind. First pressing her chest inward in a subversion of her daughter’s comparatively-lesser bust, she afterwards flashed a hateful anger far-removed from her motherly qualities across her features with a speed that exceeded a flame’s spread through deadfall.

“You will do **NO SUCH THING,** young lady!” she barked, fangs bared in light equivalence to her daughter’s. “Arrangement or not, it was **my** body that Cruz used while you were too young to realize the hunger that **I** implanted in you. If I choose to offer myself at the same time you do, your only choice is to prove yourself a better piece of fuckmeat than I am!” she argued.

“But you can’t do that, can you, **dear**?” applying a venomous condescension to her voice, her response saw the rage on her face broken down into a haughty smile. “I’ve seen you vomit up loads he’s fed you too many times to count. You can’t even stay conscious while he flushes cum into that infertile jizz-dumpster you call an asshole! Say what you will about your father, but it’s **you** who has to suffer because of **his** useless genes. You may have my physical traits, but a selfish brat like you will never surpass me in fertility!”

Goaded by her mother’s response, Anya grit her teeth, and again pumped her chest inwards to begin properly competing with her. As soon as she did so, vitriolic comments about her mother’s age and choice in men burst from between her lips. To this, Kaona responded with vitriol of her own regarding the vaginal ban imposed on her by Cruz for the sake of ‘family maintenance’. These comments instigated another outburst from Anya, thus inciting a seemingly endless chain of argument from both of the seething women.

All too often did Cruz find himself in the middle of arguments such as this. What had begun as infrequent spats between the pair following Anya’s arrival at maturity had become outright competition between them.

Biologically, humans were to blame for their dysfunction—or so history stated. In order to live longer lives relative to their peers, female SEPH were bred to harbor fierce competitive instincts when surrounded by females of similar genetic quality. Habitually, the best breeders of any given Pokemon party received the most care by their trainers, thus leading to a longer overall lifespan in spite of the number of children they were made to bear.

For Cruz, knowing the specifics that underlined their behavior did not make it any less trying. Less than a minute into the fierce exchange, his tolerance was drawn thin enough to see him put an end to it altogether.

“Gardevoir, Kirilia: Use ‘PLAY NICE’.

**PLAY NICE** — TYPE: NORMAL CATEGORY:STATUS PP:20

—The user and the target becomes friends, and the target loses its will to fight. This lowers the target’s attack stat.

**ADDENDUM: USAGE ON OR BETWEEN SEPH IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. UTTERANCE OR REPEATED UTTERANCE OF THIS MOVE IS TANTAMOUNT RACIAL SLUR OR LIBEL AND IS PUNISHABLE BY LAW.**

The moment that Cruz uttered these commands, both Kaona and Anya were rendered glassy eyed and stagnant. Some seconds later, the return of life to their eyes saw each of them draw a hand up to their forehead as if suffering from a migraine. Before either could be made to wince or groan in irritation, all signs of discomfort were ghosted from their frames for seemingly no reason at all.

Free enough for a steady return to their upright postures, the aggression and anger that they had brandished towards one another became a thing of the past. Plastered to the lower halves of their faces were genuine smiles whilst the fires lit behind their eyes were replaced inexplicably by miniature hearts. If not for the trickles of blood that steadily descended from one of their two nostrils, one would have difficulty finding a mother-daughter pair more content with physical contact than the two of them.

Relieved by the sight, Cruz nodded his head in approval.

“Good girls. Doesn’t that feel better than screaming at each other?” he suggested. Sliding both of his hands away from his sides, he again lowered them down toward the pair of faces at his crotch. Initially caressing them at the jaw (action that was reciprocated by Kaona and Anya with nuzzles), he addressed them once certain they’d both been soothed enough to respond.

“Now, Anya does have a point, Kaona. We decided that the next chance we got together would be her chance to get some practice in.” he replied. “It’s true that you have several years of experience over her, but a good mother wouldn’t try to hold back her daughter from becoming a better cock-toilet, would she? It’s the only thing that she can contribute to society, after all.”

“I suppose that’s that true...”

“And Anya. Your mom is the one who decided to let you and your sister grow up knowing what your true place in the world is. Making her obsolete as a flesh factory is a good goal to have, but until you achieve that, aren’t you going to need an example to follow?”

“M-Maybe…”

“Right, well anyway…”

Sliding his palms from the cheeks of his Pokemon up to the opposing sides of their heads, he afterwards pushed his palms towards one another to squish Kaona and Anya together at the cheek.

“Simple little flesh sockets or not, you two have to coexist. So, I’ll leave it up to you: find a way to share with one another or neither of you will get anything.”

Neither Kaona nor Anya hesitated in the face of Cruz’s request. The effect of the status move they had used against one another remained apparent in the amiable nods that they produced and the persistence of positive affect across their faces, but even without it, neither female wished to disobey a direct request from the youth above them.

For a time, the pair held their squatting positions to either side of the now-totally-engorged spire of cockmeat. Not a word passed between them, but gestures ranging from nods to responsive giggles were exchanged between them over the course of several minutes.

Cruz guessed that the two of them were engaging in telepathy. ‘Why’ was not clear to him, but given thought, his request stuck out as the primary cause. After all, as long as he did not _hear_ them bickering, the words that they exchanged were entirely inconsequential.

Not long after the mother-daughter pair exchanged a definitive nod did their method of ‘sharing’ become readily apparent to him.

Initially sliding her chest outwards to allow Anya’s breasts a more legitimate engulfing of Cruz’s cock, Kaona subsequently raised her finger-less hands up to ‘sandwiching’ positions against the outer-sides of both of Anya’s breasts. Still bracing her daughter’s bust against her own, she applied pressure to the warmed outer side of each buoyant mound until she could feel the throbbing and twitching of the male spire between them through her palms.

  
For all of its simplicity, the act brought further color to the older Pokemon’s visage. Per the ‘consequences’ of several years spent servicing the orifice-bruising erection between her daughter’s breasts, even guarded contact with its heat and veins was capable of inducing pleasure within her. Compounded alongside the mild high tied to her breathing in air humid and reeking with human cock-stink, her mind was very nearly made to believe that one of her more ‘legitimate’ orifices had been penetrated by the vein-bulked endowment.

The oldest of the two Pokemon was not allowed to squat in her stupor for long. Upon feeling her breasts fall into her mother’s grasp, Anya raised her own hands up along Kaona’s sides. Drawing the surface of her palms into contact with her cheeks, she briefly applied pressure to both regions to remind Kaona of what was to come.

When Kaona parted her lips per their unspoken plan, Anya plunged her left and dominant hand into her mouth. Utilizing the green limb’s slender daintiness to her advantage, she drove it as far down as the back of her throat.

Then began her thrusting. Knowledgeable as to the pleasure receptors that sex with Cruz had propagated within her mother’s body, she took to ‘fisting’ the back of her throat and the beginnings of her esophagus with her left hand whilst her right hand sat situated against her neck at a brace.

With this, the ‘reasoning’ behind their actions became much more apparent. Seconds into Anya’s tactile fucking of the back of her mother’s throat, the outflow of saliva, mucus, and a curiously-thick biological lubricant from between her lips were worked to a volume that required expulsion. Teased by both sexual stimulation and irritation, the older Pokemon’s gag reflex discharged these substances via the occasional wet wretch. These initial-few mouthfuls of clear sludge were spewed out with a force well-shy of projectile vomiting, but nevertheless significant enough to see them delivered past the lower-regions of Kaona’s neck and the beginnings of her bust.

Naturally, this left the fluid to splatter against the partly-exposed exterior of Cruz’s cocktip. Sloppily bathed in the substance within a handful of Kaona’s wretches, those that followed sent considerable amounts of goo down into a slow roll across the surface of his member, and down the length of the shared ‘breast-pussy’ made from Kaona’s and Anya’s cleavage.

  
The consistency of her daughter’s oral fisting was quick to make Kaona a much less ‘confrontational’ iteration of herself. Heart-embedded eyes euphorically up-turned, the stimulation punched through the back of her throat by her daughter’s slickened limb soon succeeded in making the set of lips at her crotch quiver and squirt with a similar consistency.

  
Even so, she did not rest on her laurels. Mustering the ‘control’ bestowed upon her by the countless facial impalements that Cruz had treated her to, the spillage of her mouth’s cunt-juice against Cruz’s cock and between Anya’s breasts moved her to play her part. Intensifying the sandwich of her daughter’s buoyant breast fat against Cruz’s cock whilst simultaneously drawing more of their flesh into the act (a feat likely achieved by psychic energy), she subsequently began flicking her wrists upward and downward at a consistent pace. Drawing the flesh she had collected and compressed up and down through each motion that she produced, she manipulated the increasingly-gooey cunt stored between Anya’s breasts in her stead to see its confines purposed for Cruz’s pleasure. This she did without closing her mouth to the invasive plunging of Anya’s hand through the back of her throat, and without any sort of consistent focus on what her hands were doing.

Cruz had requested that she share with her daughter; sexual pleasure—no matter how extreme—could not be allowed to keep her from doing so effectively.

Equally motivated by a learned loyalty to her human owner, Anya presented equivalent willingness (and happiness) to respond to the orders passed to her. Turning her features away from her mother’s in time with the beginning of her breasts’ strenuous application as a cocksleeve, she beamed up at Cruz whilst wearing a smile more so adorable than perverse.

“How’s this, Cruz? This is better, right? This is how a good pair of stupid SEPH fuckholes would share with each other, right ♥?” she inquired, voice strained in search of approval. “Please say that we’re doing a good job. I don’t want to waste time on something you don’t like, Cruz. I can’t be a good partner for you unless I know how to make you feel good, so if this is bad, just tell me and we’ll use our squishy, worthless bodies to do something else for you, okay?”

These suggestions did not leave Anya’s lips baselessly. As she produced them, her stirring of the back of her mother’s throat grew more intense. Plunges of her hand that had seen only the beginnings of her spittle-drenched limb push into her esophagus became regular penetrations of the pleasure tube. Consequential to these curved blows was a much more consistent outflow of clear throat-slop from Kaona’s lips, and as a result, the injection of further heat and moisture into the interior of her cunt-pussy.

Unwilling to allow her daughter to make off with the event’s spotlight, Kaona responded to her own orgasmic regurgitations with a momentary sharpening and slowing of the depressive smother she had applied to Anya’s breasts. Sliding the spread of her palms from the midsection of her breasts down near their underside, she there reapplied all of the pressure she had generated previously. With this, the very next ‘ascension’ attempted by her wrists drove Anya’s breasts in their entirety up along Cruz’s pulsing girth. Throughout, the choking pressure imposed on the base of her breasts (and the base of her breast canal as a consequence) saw Anya’s flesh smothered into nerve-rending contact with the steely rigidity and virile heat that Cruz’s cock exuded. Whereas the entirety of the canal was allowed a _taste_ of these qualities, only it’s bottom half was treated to the crippling stimulation indigenous to the depression of a too-large cock into a too-small hole.

At the peak of this ascension (a point that successfully obscured 80% of Cruz’s cock with sandwiched breastmeat), Kaona slackened her wrists, and allowed both of her daughter’s mounds to fall back into a wet flop against her own. In doing so, the slop and precum wrung from between her breasts into a cleavage-topping puddle was again granted descent along the flesh of Cruz’s shaft, and the biting pressure imposed on his member’s meat was provided contrast in the form of a wet free-fall of breast meat across its veins.

No sooner was the position of Anya’s breasts reset did Kaona apply herself to regular repetitions of the milking ministration.

Cumulatively, both Kaona and Anya stressed the advantages of their respective positions in search of favor from their youthful owner whilst at the same time appearing as if they were in harmony with one another. Lest further bloodstains be applied to their faces by a second draw from their movepools, this much was the most that they could manage.

What satisfaction Cruz reaped from the pump of Anya’s breasts along his member and Kaona’s face-fucking did not blind him to the truth behind the pair’s actions. Years prior, he had recognized that the familial bond embedded into them by Anya’s birth had eroded into a relationship of convenience similar to that which they shared with Arthur. Though they harbored familial love within themselves and seemed willing to acknowledge this love if told to, this ‘love’ did not exist within the core of their beings.

Fundamentally, they viewed each other as competition—as someone to defeat, surmount, and ultimately invalidate.

In a way, this knowledge was far more satisfying to Cruz than the sight of Kaona’s slop-covered breasts or the spurts of precum that their grind against his member induced. He had changed them. Within mere years, he had violated a relationship written into their beings, and had motivated them to select a more antagonist relationship all on their own.

Cruz was not the only person present to see through their behavior. Happily forgotten off to her father’s side, Suya watched her mother and sister with a keen intent. Actions obscured by her usual flat, dead-pan expression, she presented her accomplishments only after she felt certain as to what she was seeing.

“Daddy, shouldn’t you just tell them the truth?” she suggested, eyes peering up at Cruz from just behind Kaona’s squatted frame. “They’re doing a good job, but they’re also lying. Working together doesn’t really matter to them—they’re such basal sows that the only reason they’re even trying is so that you’ll let them go back to competing…

“I think that’s mean. Isn’t it?” she inquired.

Moved to his first genuine chuckle in sometime, Cruz slanted his features towards Suya and smiled. Reaching out with his right hand to approvingly pat at her head, he afterwards returned to a stalwart observation of the increasingly feverish efforts put forth between Kaona and Anya.

“It is, Suya. I’d be meaner if I stopped them, though.” he replied.

“Why?”

“Because competition and performance is what they were born to do. You as well, but unlike you, these two weren’t born weren’t born with a shred of instinct control. Now that they’ve started, it is the only thing they can do that will make them happy.”

“I don’t really understand.”

“That’s fine; you will eventually. Until then, how about you just keep watching?”

“’Kay. Understanding isn’t that important to me. If you’ll make them do something that I can help out with, I’m fine with letting them fight until they die or whatever.”

Moved equally by his conversation with Suya and the pleasant weight swelling within the base of his member, Cruz again convened his palms atop the pair of skulls by his crotch. Fastening each, he peeled Kaona and Anya away from one another to bring the grind of sweaty and slimy breast meat along his erection to an end.

Without one another’s weight to lean on, both women tottered before falling back squarely on the ample cushioning of their rears. Kaona left with lips and cheeks plastered in saliva and Anya with breasts gleaming with cock-grease and pubic hair, neither seemed much worse for the wear for all the effort that they had exerted.

In particularly ‘good health’ relative to what she had endured was Kaona.

“S-Suya, a girl your age shouldn’t be speaking l-like that.” she suggested, voice moistened and hoarsened. “Don’t forget that you’ve no obligation to follow Anya’s example. W-With your tolerance, you could…”

“You could do…

“…”

Briefly, a coincidental wander of the older woman’s line of sight away from her daughter and toward the erect and aroused phallus in front of her pinched her tongue and tightened her throat. Try as she might to overcome these symptoms and finish speaking, that which left her lips when the scent of the swollen erection returned to prominence within her nose became limited to the occasional giggle.

Well used to being disregarded in favor of a cock, Suya rolled her eyes. A childish ‘whatever’ began to itch at the back of her throat, but before she could release it, action from her sister made further flippancy unnecessary.

Lunging forward, the older Kirilia smothered her sex-greased breasts against her mother’s to drive her down back-first against the floor. Immediately turning her head backwards, she met her younger sister’s features with an annoyed frown.

“You can be jealous and sulk later, Suya. Cruz hasn’t finished using us yet, so stop bothering him already!”

_“Make me you fat-breasted bitch…”_

Too soft-spoken for her own good, Suya muttered a response that she was certain her sister would not hear. Instead seeming as though she had clammed up as told, she motivated her older sister to turn her scowl into a beam.

“Anyway, you stopped us because you got bored, right Cruz?” she suggested, positive features slanted back at the youth. “I’m probably right, so you should use us just like **this**! It’s kinda like sharing, isn’t it?

“M-Maybe you could use my cunt this time, too? I’m for sure not…not o-ovulating or anything, so please? I-I know you say it doesn’t matter, b-but this way Mom and I can, y’know…share!”

In the same breath, Anya referenced the position she had forced her mother into and the sole point of incongruence with their lower bodies. At present, her rear sat situated over her mother’s crotch—a placement that availed the four holes between the two of them for immediate usage by the youth behind them. However, whilst Kaona’s mound sat exposed by a right-side peel of her panties’ crotch, her own remained covered by the medical plaster put in place to guard against risky behavior from her or her owner.

As the young man who endorsed and enforced its placement, Cruz visually considered the offering set out before him for some time. Inevitably, though, his staring leaned him closer toward ‘opportunity’, and much further away from ‘precaution’.

“Really, not at all?” he retorted, hand rising to his chin in confusion. “I read that in the past, SEPHs exposed to sexual contact with humans for long enough were susceptible to spontaneous ovulation if penetrated. Given how fucking hopeless you and Kaona are, wouldn’t that be kinda dangerous for the family life you have now?”

“U-Uh…w-welll…”

“You know your body better than I do, though! If you say it’s safe, **why shouldn’t** you get a chance to get your insides split over a human cock? In the end, it’d come down to an adult making a choice and accepting the potential consequences, **right**?”

“W-Well, yeah! I’ve been mature for a whole year now. I-I can choose for myself what I think is safe or not!”

At this, Cruz merely smiled. Taking a step towards the pair, he next addressed Kaona.

“And you? What do you think, Kaona? Do you think this is a good choice for Anya to make?”

Surmounting her stupor, Kaona rolled her eyes in strained disinterest towards her daughter’s plight.

“I’ve already said what I wanted to say. If…if agreeing with her choice lets you start using my cunt as a disposable fucktoy again, then I agree.” she replied. “I’ve been without you and stuck with my husband’s useless cock instead of yours for an entire week now. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t feel like sharing a right I’ve already earned…”

Again made to roll his shoulders and chuckle, Cruz bent his knees, and finally reached out towards the soaked plaster spread out across Anya’s womanhood. Pinching its corner, a rigid flick of his wrist tore its failing adhesive-face from off of her hairless mound. A lighter flick saw it discarded, and prompted his frame back to a standing position behind the pair.

“I guess it’s settled, then!” Cruz chirped. “Looking forward to see what becomes of you, Anya…”

-

MUTUAL SATISFACTION

During the years that had passed since Kaona’s first marital transgression and the birth of her second daughter, Cruz had spent the majority of his time with the Redd family honing his skills at multi-tasking. With a total of three Pokemon females within the family—all three having been exposed or otherwise made aware of the instincts bred into their beings over hundreds of years—becoming more adept at juggling their behaviors and libidos was something that deemed necessary if he was to continue using them.

Thus far, his performance cap for simultaneous management had been raised to sit at two. What effort he had put in over a few short years had granted him the physical resources and stamina required to ‘deal with’ both Kaona and Anya at the same time—no matter the depth or nature of their desires.

It was as a result of his cultivated capability that the youth did not find himself daunted or ‘sluggish’ when faced with the double-decker orifice set of Anya’s panty-clad buttocks atop Kaona’s syrup-drenched lower lips.

He had seen the sight before. Provided he adhered to patterns that had worked in the past whilst keeping the undefined ‘time-restraints’ of the event in mind, neither woman would be left without the stimulation or internal fulfillment that he had promised them.

Keeping to the pattern that he had established thus far, the first pair of hips that he applied his palms to belonged to Anya. Upon smothering his palms to the curved regions and freeing them from their squeeze against the meat of her thighs, he drew Anya’s rear inwards just far enough to leave her female mound situated above her mother’s.

Before he could manipulate her frame further, a sudden dump of the Kirlia’s upper body flicked her buttocks up to a height that left her perspiring womanhood at an ideal height for his erection.

“Please~! P-Please put in in, Cruz!” Anya cooed. “I wanna feel your cock melt my cunt into a better shape for it! I’ve wanted it for years! When you stick it in, I-I’ll finally be a proper Poke-bitch for you!

“So do it! B-Breed my greedy fucking cunt l-like the useless babymaker it is ♥!” she begged.

As Anya had positioned her frame as he had intended to, Cruz moved straight to the fulfillment of her request. Driving his crotch inwards and downwards as a far less fortunate male might plant a shovel into earth, he engaged his quadriceps and abdominals in a heavy, hilt-depth depression of his member between her lower lips. Driving his log-like girth through the virginally-tight confines of her womanhood, neither the friction nor internal convulsion that was pushed out against his member throughout harried his ingress. In a manner not unlike the fitting of one’s hand into a fresh latex glove, Anya’s frothing cunt was made to spread, expand, and ultimately smother the grotesque extension of cockmeat offered by her owner.

Equally amused and aroused, a chuckle escaped Cruz’s lips.

“Congrats, Anya! Now you have no other choice but to follow in your mother’s footsteps and become another smiling flesh-socket for humans to seed and abuse!” he started, his tone distinctly more malicious and condescending. “I can’t really tell one set of SEPH insides from another, but it almost feels like your cunt is squirming around my cock as hard as Kaona’s did back then…

“I guess I should take that to mean that you’re already feeling good? Ha, you two pigs are really mother and daughter, aren’t you?”

His ‘praise’ stated, Cruz wrenched his hips backwards and his crotch outwards to draw his member through a harsh, cunt-meat dogged extraction from the depths of Anya’s uncorked womanhood. Peeling his erection’s inches as far outwards as the ragged, more darkly-shaded bulk of his glans, he took a moment to brace himself prior to corkscrewing these cunt-glazed inches straight back through to the punishing hilt that he had imposed initially.

With her owner’s cocktip returned to its depressive kiss against her cervix, Anya screamed. Not in discomfort or bliss, but a maddening combination of the sensations that only a female born with the sexual satiation of males in mind might be able to enjoy.

“INSAAAAAAIDE ♥♥♥!! C-CRUZ’S COCK’SH F-FINALLY S-SPREADIN’ MY C-CUNT!” she exhaled, maw splayed orgasmically across Kaona’s collar bone. “D-DO IT ! F-FUCK ME ~! T-TURN MY INSIDE’S INN’U S-SPUTTERIN’ MEAT FOR YOUR COCK!”

Unsurprisingly, auditory competition for the word’s that left the lips at the top half of her body came from the set that Cruz had penetrated with his cock. Simultaneously, an explosion of arced spindles of cunt-juice from between her lower lips drenched Cruz’s crotch, and soaked through what fractions of her panties had not been soaked by sweat.

Incidentally, the noise induced by the outflow of her orgasm’s contents was not the primary point of contention for her screams. This privilege fell to the thrusts that Cruz produced following his first, and the hearty *CLOP-CLOP-CLOP* produced by his crotch’s impact against the meat of Anya’s rear. Throughout her outburst and long after it, these impacts punctuated the extent of the teenaged-Kirlia’s penetration, and again highlighted the perverse disparity between the size of her body and Cruz’s cock.

As Cruz again went about fulfilling his Pokemon’s debasing request, these disparities went entirely disregarded. Following a comparatively meager depression of Anya’s cervix against his glans, the youth went out of his way to ensure that the thrusts he stabbed through her taut canal were as invasive and ‘destructive’ as those her species had been biologically acclimated to. First tightening his brace on her hips to keep himself stable, he messily withdrew inches of his shaft from her folds until the portly-midsection of the urethra that bisected it sat exposed. Before Anya could be allowed to acclimate to their absence, another thrust from his hips plugged her depths full of his member’s entirety, and again placed a nauseating pressure on the baby-button at her womanhood’s back. 

Repeating this pattern of injection and extraction over and over again at his usual, ‘youthful’ pace immediately subjected Anya’s innards to the simplification and ‘remodeling’ that she had called for. Very quickly were her stretched innards swelled puffy and wet by the constant entrance and exit of his member within their midst.

More obvious than the bloating of her inner walls into the glorified cock-suckers commonly maintained by female breeders was the consistent, stomach-distending punch of cockmeat underneath the flesh of her middle. Every single frame-weighted dump of cockmeat through the Kirlia’s cunt carried with it enough force to tease the girth and length of Cruz’s and its foremost inches from underneath her midsection. Contorted upwards and outwards in the shape of a lengthy cliff of modest height, these bulges distorted her gut at positions that differed slightly from one another per stab that Cruz completed.

Given a glance of Anya’s middle and the speed with which these grotesque bulges were inflated and deflated at it, the ‘destructive reformation’ that she had requested was bound to appear as more of an inevitability than something Cruz could offer at will.

As the ‘mattress’ that her daughter’s abdominals were fucked into, Kaona knew far better than to assume that her daughter’s penetration would end without her cunt being fucked to suit Cruz’s cock. Every lengthy bulge that Cruz’s thrusts birthed at Anya’s midsection was one inadvertently punched against her own midsection. Made to feel the drive of a flesh-blunted cocktip against the tender exterior of her abdominals (the central muscles layered over her womb in particular), the weight of these plunges filled in every possible mental ‘blank’ she harbored regarding Anya’s experience with graphic visual images of her insides greedily suckling to Cruz’s cock.

These images were not the sort that a SEPH starved for her owner’s cock ought to look at. A minute of the slide-show narrated by her daughter’s moans and enhanced by the drenching of her own feminine innards unsealed her lips, and forced her to beg in defense of herself.

“Please!! Let me f-feel you too, Cruz? P-Please fill up my cunt with your cock—NUUGHHYUAAA♥!”

As quickly as Kaona placed her request was it granted to her. As there were only so many things that the older woman could have asked for, Cruz rightly assumed that feeling Anya be fucked overtop her had become too arousing for her to withstand.

Recognizing this, he began to juggle. First drawing his member from Anya’s cunt to the tune of needy mewls and viscous spatters of her internal lubrication down onto Kaona’s crotch, he then dropped himself down into a position propped up on bent knees. Angling his cocktip downwards, a thrust from his hips and the reverberating *GLRRP!* that sounded out from Kaona’s split cunt scrambled her words into an incoherent moan.

Having already established a rhythm for himself, the spread of Kaona’s innards across his cock and their fitted suckle to its veins and contours prompted him to reapply the ministrations he had used to batter and loosen her daughter’s slit.

Doing so proved immediately effective—almost too much so. Skewering the Gardevoir’s lower lips with half-length impalements after such a sound hilt within them reminded the meaty orifice as to how it had been brought to its current state. A half-dozen sloppy injections into the squirting slit saw its learned suckling patterns reapplied to the more sensitive regions of Cruz’s member, and an abuse-able pliancy to the meat at her canal’s back.

Whereas his thrusts within Anya could have been likened to a piledriver’s downward smother of gooey, baby-making trash, those that he laid into Kaona appeared more similar to the depression of a pipe into a crevice dug solely for its shape. What time Kaona had spent without his member within her had granted her confines a cloying humidity and tightness across the inches closest to its mouth, but throughout its back half, the participation that it offered to the event was as per usual. The mashing of a solid helmet of cock flesh across sticky cuntmeat was met with regular orgasmic quivers pleasurable solely to the male responsible for it, and the dilation of her cervix that worsened with every injection was waved off by her frame as inevitability.

Before Cruz could be brought to perceive the differences between Kaona’s cunt and her daughter’s, the flexibility of Anya’s swamped cock-sleeve gave way to an outright availing of her cervix. Granted just after an especially deep inward flick of his crotch, another suffocating squeeze of her cervix around the inflamed girth of his member ended with the organ assuming the role of a throbbing cock-ring for his endowment’s middle. All of the inches from this point upward were smothered into the equally ‘familiar’ confines of her womb whilst the spearhead of glans flesh at their tip tented the organ’s ceiling.

Rightly, the occurrence of this event so early on into her penetration steeped Kaona’s good mood into total hysteria.

“M-Mhnnggggh♥ FUCK YES. FUCKYES FUCKYES FUCKYESSS!!” she cooed.

“J-JUST LIKE T-THAT! U-USE ALL OF MY C-CUNT AS A FUCKHOLE ♥!” she requested, a strained breathlessness to her tone. “P-Please!! T-Turn the gooey fuckmeat inside m-me into a breeding f-factory again! M-My inside aren’t n-nearly as stubborn as my d-daughter’s, so you can seed -them however you want!”

Arousing as these words were to hear, Cruz did not deviate.

Once within Kaona’s womb, the thrusts that he produced became even shorter in duration. Leaning his torso into each one so as to worsen the tenting of her womb around his cocktip, he worked himself through the speedy pattern until he found himself with the strength to raise his lower body into a deep crouch. Sustained at the tips of his toes, the ascension settled his crotch (and the shaft extending from it) up to a more invasive angle of penetration/extraction. Following placement, the very same short-length thrusts he had devoted himself to became tinged by a visual brutality difficult to discern as one of hateful or sexual. Ignoring the teasing flutters of canal meat against his member and the orgasmic splatter of fluids against his crotch, he delivered his member downward and inwards as if trying to break through another wall within Kaona’s guts.

No such wall existed, of course. Nevertheless, his goring her in this manner and stressing both of their frames closer to their limits was something that the youth believed to be his right. Even if he did in fact succeed in seeding her innards again or permanently breaking them, these could be considered as a small price to pay for his exercising it.

Fortunately for Kaona, she was no longer the sole outlet with which the youth could ‘express’ himself. Just as the distention of Anya’s middle had brought her to produce a plea for her own ‘turn’, the constant, serpentine grind of cockmeat through her middle and against Anya’s eventually moved the younger Pokemon to stand up for herself.

“C-C’mon, Cruz. That’s e-enough, isn’t it? D-Don’t waste all of your energy on Mom’s used-up cunt!” she sulked, features more so eager than saddened. Turning her gaze backwards, she found her suitor’s features situated just over her right shoulder. “Y-You haven’t even finished breaking me yet. I-If you don’t, I-I’ll never get to feel m-my tummy get bloated with y-your baby-juice…”

The timing and contents of Anya’s request pushed Cruz from his destructive high back down to a point of procedural calm—much to his chagrin. Again was he reminded of the overall goal of his time with the pair, and again did he recall that _other_ restrictions against mindless devotion to one of them had already been put in place.

Leaving his hips halted in another hilt within Kaona’s cunt, he spoke.

“….Whew. You two really make me wonder if greed is the only thing that the ready-made sows of your species can actually feel.” he exhaled. “You’ve got a point, though. Let’s find out how good it is, shall we?”

Yet again, the youth turned his gaze to the event’s third wheel.

“Suya, ‘Future Sight’. Tell me how much time I have left.”

With a nod, the youngest Kirlia shut her eyes. Channeling her energy as requested, she silently combed through the futures most likely to occur from Cruz’s current position in search of the most ‘correct’ one.

When she finished, her eyes opened. Indifferent to the blood running down her face towards her lips, she reported her findings with a smile.

“He’s actually really close. If you take too long, you’re really likely to be caught. Your best option is finishing things now. I saw you do it a bunch of times—it’ll be okay.” she explained.

Nodding in confirmation, Cruz again turned his attention to the woman beneath him.

“Well, you heard her. All we have time for is a finish—you’ll both just have to wait until next time for something else.” he explained.

Mutually softened by biological need and equally eager to feel said need satiated, neither Kaona nor Anya appeared at all disappointed by the statement. Irises still locked behind two pairs of miniature hearts, the prospect of completion seemed to excite them just as much as Cruz’s senseless masturbation with their insides had.

“It’s okay~!” Anya chirped, a single fang bared in the smile drawn across her face. “N-Now I can serve my p-purpose, right? Y-You’re gonna have’ta dump all of your squirmy cock juice s-straight inside my womb and fucking **BREED** **US** , huh?”

In this instance, Kaona did not feel the need to match her daughter’s verbal enthusiasm. Still skewered from crotch to uterus on Cruz’s cock, her frame deemed an orgasmic roll of their eyes up towards their sockets and a narrow parting of her lips fit for a squeal or coo as the only form of ‘response’ that her owner needed to see.

These intuitions proved correct. After taking in the responses offered by both women, Cruz bared his own incisors in a show of excitement. Reeling his hips backwards and his member through yet another flesh-pursued slide from Kaona’s folds, the reason for his excitement became apparent just after the tip of his cock was left to its invasive parting of his older partner’s lower lips.

Reddened and swollen past its usually-impressive girth, his erection appeared on the verge of bursting. If driven back inside Kaona in its current state, the reproductive bedlam most likely to follow would be nothing short of hellish.

Hellish for Kaona’s womb, and pleasurable hellish for every inch of Cruz’s cock…

-

**I’M NOT GOING TO FRONT. COOKIES AND CREAM IS SOME GOOD ASS ICE-CREAM. SOMETIMES THE GROCERY STORE BRANDS CAN BE KIND OF SHIT, BUT IF YOU GET IT AT A PARLOUR OR SOMETHING IT’S FIRE, MAN.**

The final thrust that Cruz delivered between Kaona’s cuntlips ended with the flattening of his glans against the meat of her uterus’ ceiling, and a gluey expulsion of semen directly against the region. Pumped from the base of his crotch up the full length of his urethra by the pleasure ground through his member throughout his thrust, the rope of jizz ultimately smeared to the stretched pocket of flesh was one voluminous enough to mirror the entirety of a lesser male’s orgasm.

For Cruz, it represented a strong start—no more and no less. Devoid of the protein-rich chunks consequential to his more ‘backed-up’ orgasms, the murky-white sludge he released was of a quality more similar to a cement-thick mucus than the glutted paste he sometimes fed his Pokemon. Whilst gooey enough to adhere to the fertile meat of Kaona’s womb whilst simultaneously piling atop it, the steaming muck nevertheless maintained the ‘flow’ that one might expect of a liquid.

Kaona (in particular her insides) was very well acquainted with the substance and the scalding fullness that it introduced into her womb. It was as a consequence of the consistent sex shared between herself, Cruz, and Anya that the substance had undergone such a stellar transition from the rancid mire she had once siphoned from his balls on a daily basis—there was no sense in complaining about it.

At present, her long-standing ‘contentment’ with the heady sludge could be seen in both her appearance and behavior. As shoe-lace length strands of the substance were repeatedly blasted against the back of her womb, her lips refused to uncurl, and no more than the occasional squeak or hiccup could be heard leaving the miniature gap between her lips.

For her, the steady drowning of her womb in human cock juice—any human cock juice— was as much relieving as it was pleasurable. Being a Pokemon utterly addicted to the sensation of human semen filling her womb from back to front, the happening itself brought her sex-starved state of mind back to a relative equilibrium.

Described simply, it ‘fixed’ her. The drainage of her body’s favorite drug into her womb and the renewed potential for its invasion of her reproductive cells was the state that her frame had come to regard as ‘normal’.

Understandably thankful for the relief that surged through her, words of gratitude eventually replaced the coos and hiccupped that trickled from between her lips.

“T-Thank y-you Cruzz’shh ♥♥. T-Thank you f-for breedin’ m-me ♥ T-Thank you f-for treatin’ m-my u-useless, s-soft body wi’sh purpahsss...”

Though slurred, her words were without ambiguity. Each that left her lips departed whilst an expression of feminine bliss sat on her face: the most genuine expression that any female Pokemon could hope to produce.

Comically, Cruz’s response to the heartfelt gratitude that she produced was a calculated withdrawal of his spewing erection through her depths. Paying no mind to the outflow of seed that lazily spluttered from her spread-lower lips following his glans’ exit, he purposed the seconds immediate to his extraction in a one-handed ascension of his cocktip up to parity with Anya’s lower lips. Inadvertently drenching her lower lips with several spurts of seed throughout the transition, he ended the seconds-long shift with another sound thrust from his hips. Piercing her bloated labial-lips, then grinding his member back through the virginal tightness of her cunt, his glans ‘greeted’ the needy orifice with the delivery of a bloated rope of semen directly against her cervix.

Quite literally injected with fulfillment, a scream burst from Anya’s lips in time with the clogging of her vaginal canal’s back end.

“B-BABY JUICE ♥! C-CRUZ’S B-BABY JUICE I-IS INSIDE M-ME!!” she cooed. “I’M A B-BABYMAKER N-NOW ♥! I-I’M GONNA GET’TA SPEND TH’REST OF M-MY W-WORTHLESS L-LIFE GETTING’ FUCKED F-FULL’A COCK JUICE JUS’ LIKE THISSSSSS ♥♥!”

These utterances marked the beginning and end of the teenaged Pokemon’s coherent outbursts. Several others followed throughout her time accepting the remainder of Cruz’s orgasm, but each one produced was too garbled by hysteria for its meaning to be easily deduced.

Proximately, oversight on Cruz’s part was to blame for their degeneration. Having neglected to break into her womb, the depression of his member back down to its hole-ruining hilt left him with no other choice but to begin the process of ‘loosening’ Anya’s innards anew. As time was not on his side, he took to the delivery of longer and heavier thrusts through Anya’s folds with the hope of expediting an entrance into her womb. Channeling the wind-up of a sledge-hammer and the impact it might deliver to an earth-embedded stake, he repeatedly peeled his member all but entirely out of Anya’s cunt before driving his endowment straight back down to its ‘kiss’ with her cervix.

All the while, the continued outflow of semen from the tip of his member dictated that each cervix-fattening impact he produced be accompanied by a vile splatter of semen from out of the inundated confines of her vaginal canal. Consequentially, her canal interior was made to see-saw between the states of partly-clogged and largely empty. For as quickly as it seemed to fill with the viscous dick-mucus (a consequence of the thickness of his member’s jizz strands and their frequent expulsion), Cruz’s thrusts saw it emptied via nasty splatters of the substance from underneath Anya’s outer lips.

Forged from these obscene consequences was an eventual success. A half minute of consistent action on Cruz’s part delivered the majority of his member through Anya’s cervix with only the production of a fleshy *CHU♥* as proof of the fact. With this, the semen made to cling to the interior of her vaginal canal was allowed a steady drool into the fertile ‘reservoir’ at her core, and the obese dregs of reproductive grease still squeezing their way up his urethra were granted a plaint flesh sac to be dumped into.

Cumulatively, these sources bloated Anya’s womb far faster than her mother’s had been. Denied only the stomach-distending excess that Kaona had enjoyed, a volume of semen sufficient enough to see the confines of her uterus and even the length of vaginal canal beneath it spread and fattened by semen was fed through her lower lips in no time at all.

Wisely, Cruz took no time for himself to enjoy the fruits of his labor. The moment the orgasmic haze choking his mind faded, he again dragged his member through a grossly-pleasurable extraction from Anya’s depths.

Leaving another pair of gaped, meaty, and semen-stuffed lower lips beneath his member, he subsequently set about collecting himself.

First he needed to dress himself. Next…

“Suya, use ‘Psychic’. These two aren’t going to dress themselves, so I need you to handle that as well.” he exhaled.

Quite functional in spite of her flushed and sweaty state, Suya took her owner’s command in stride. Raising both of her hands, she began gesturing with each as a child playing with an invisible toy.

Her toys, however, were real. First drawing her mother and sister into midair, she clumsily reapplied the pieces of clothing they had discarded until they appeared as disheveled versions of their earlier selves. Once finished, she gently craned their suspended frames over to the dining table that Kaona had organized to seat them where she believed they belonged.

The product of her efforts was a pair of Pokemon barely upright within their seats, breathing heavily, and very happily ‘overtaken’ by something other than the cake slices plated before them.

First to join Kaona and Anya at the table was Cruz. Intentionally seating himself at the end of the table that faced the kitchen’s secondary entry point, he turned backwards to prompt Suya towards the chair to the right of his own.

Ultimately, his actions proved timely. No sooner did the girl plant her rear on her chair did a familiar voice begin reverberating through the kitchen.

**“I hope you guys left space for ice-cream!”**


	3. Depression as Defined by the Depressed

Depression and listlessness, though common in unevolved adult-age SEPH, were feelings that Arthur believed himself to be immune to.

From his perspective, both of these feelings were by-products of dissatisfaction. Whether with regard to one’s life as a whole, financial freedom, romantic entanglements or otherwise, dissatisfaction with any of these areas was typically enough to lower one’s perceived quality of life.

In his experience, there were few exceptions to this rule. The loss of living quality endured by dissatisfied individuals led the majority of his observed ‘examples’ to feelings of self-loathing, thereby spawning depression and further dissatisfaction with their lots in life. As a result of their depression, these individuals began to perceive themselves as powerless to change the complexion of their lives, and thusly became listless.

  
To a point, the phenomenon was all too simple; a tragic, but easily understood affliction unique to those whose lives were not to their liking.

As a member of society, Arthur believed offering help to these individuals and reminding them of the good things about their lives to be a part of his civic duty. As well, he often took it upon himself to observe those that seemed to be ‘down in the dumps’ so as to better equip himself for helping others in the future.

Never once did it occur to the Ralts that he too might one day feel depressed and unsettled. Such was the quality of his life—a life spent with a loving wife, two adorable daughters, and a boy kind and selfless enough to ease the daily pain induced by his inability to sire a son—that feelings such as these seemed utterly foreign to him. By the definition he had crafted, he would live his life totally immune to their onset and free from the pain that accompanied them.

Much to his surprise, the preceding few months of his life and their off-color contents had forced his definition to change. How and why remained beyond him even in the present, but the fact that his internal definition had been altered remained totally apparent to him.

Something had happened; otherwise, the feelings of depression and unsettlement that had crept into his heart would never have found their way inside of him.

Initially, he mistook these feelings for a temporary affliction caused by the monotony of his work. Sitting at a desk and reviewing financial documentation on a computer had never been extremely enjoyable for him. It put food on his family’s table and maintained their comfort with ease, yet each day he spent within his branch office was a day that he wished he could spend with his wife and daughters. Viewed like this, being overtaken by a temporary lack of fulfillment could be normalized as an inevitability of some kind.

If inevitable, Arthur’s dissatisfaction was hardly temporary. As time passed, the responsibilities allocated to his position and the recognition that he earned from them only increased. Kaona praised him. Suya asked for larger birthday presents. Aya pestered him for details about his job for a show-and-tell day at school. Even his coworkers—both human and SEPH—came to regard him as a capable (but quiet) member of their organization.

Yet he felt nothing. Day by day, he only felt worse—as though the irksome worry nestled within his chest had sprouted tendrils in search of his very soul (that’s such a gay passage b). No amount of support or recognition seemed liable to remove these feelings from his heart, and no amount of investigation as to their cause(s) seemed likely to uncover a solution. Soon enough, their weight became so cumbersome—so **innate** that he began to believe that these feelings would persist in him forever.

As a boy, Arthur would have succumbed to these feelings without once looking into their origins. The Arthur of the present, a man slightly more capable and made sturdy by his family, was unwilling to accept such a reality.

Thus, he began to think.

Given that the state of his life lacked anything that warranted long-term depression, he reasoned that the ‘cause’ for his affliction was both known and unknown to him. Not known to his conscious mind, but known to his psychic capacity as a Pokemon.

According to this theory, any given part of his life as it was could be the cause for his feelings. Such a wide breadth of possibilities aided him very little in his search for palliative solutions for the negative emotions that plagued him. What it did provide was direction: **Someone** or **something** around him had become warped.

Of this he was certain.

-

**ARTHUR’S OFFICE- THE AVERAGE WORKDAY—EARLY FALL**

One keystroke at a time, Arthur produced, and subsequently logged calculations derived from a weeks’ worth of significant business transactions. Collar unbuttoned and headpiece shielded eyes bored into his desktop monitor, his fatigued frame manipulated his mouse and keyboard such that the process remained as speedy and automatic as it had some hours prior.

He did not do so unobstructed. Whilst relatively secluded at his desk and supported by the standing photograph of his family at its corner, chatter from his coworkers across the office served as a constant obstruction for his internal processes. Attempting to deafen himself via concentration accomplished nothing; the volume at which their conversation was held ensured that every word of it reached his ears.

Strictly speaking, obstruction was not something that he minded. The nature of modern, open-concept office spaces was such that a certain amount of noise pollution was to be expected. Additionally, people were people; his thoughtless addiction to completing his work in a timely manner was an exception amongst employees as opposed the rule.

Nevertheless, he could not help but wish for his coworkers to speak amongst one another more quietly.

“Bro, my nigga, I swear to god, man, her ass was crazy. I would not lie to you, dog. When have I ever lied to you, b?” a suited Buzzswole suggested.

Speaking through a mouth indiscernible to the naked eye, the massive orange male raised both of his hands and gestured with them to emphasize his speech.

“It was like thiiiis wide and the kid somehow totally drenched it in jizz. I’m not gay for telling you this—that’s how fucking impressive it was, b.” whilst speaking, he spread his palms away from one another to convey the span referenced by his utterance. Given the outward slant of his wrists and their distance from one another, a pair of especially-wide beach balls seemed to be the gesture’s intended conveyance. “I can show you the video right now. They have a bunch of them in. Some of them have some wild, racist shit to them, but they’re all so tight, b.”

“You think I’m joking? Actually, fuck this—Johnson, let me use your keyboard for a second…”

Johnson, a Gallade owning a sleek, gelled manipulation of his green headpiece*(hair) and an impressive build for his species, chuckled at his co-worker’s suggestion. Sliding over to allow the larger Pokemon the space that he required, he afterwards shook his head in amused anticipation of the video he would soon observe.

“Bro, how is this not gay? You’re describing a little kid caking jizz onto a girl’s ass, man. That’s fucking gay, bro.”

“No it’s not, nigga.” retorted Michaels . “I know you seen some wild shit yourself—you just won’t talk about it. The fact that I will is PROOF that I’m straight.”

“No, man. You're not--No one normal does this, you faggot.” chuckling heartily, Johnson continued shaking his head as he spoke. “Since when are you even into this shit? I always thought you only liked human girls and Pheromosa?”

Rolling his numerous eyes in derision, Michaels continued his search without taking his eyes off of the monitor ahead of them.

As he worked, Johnson’s eyes wandered between the monitor screen and the office space surrounding his desk. Well aware, and yet entirely indifferent to the less-than-ethical nature of watching a pornographic video at work, he kept watch more so for his coworker’s sake than anyone else’s.

By sheer coincidence, one of these sweeps brought him into eye-contact with another of his coworkers. Though brief, the identity of this individual drove him up from his seat and into a confident stride over to his location.

Once adjacent to his desk, he smiled, and held out his hand in invitation.

“Art,Art,Art, you’ve got to check this out, man.” Johnson admonished. “I know you’ve got that report you’ve got to finish, but we’re all just fucking around right now anyway. No one is going to bust your balls if you take a break for a bit.”

Mildly flustered by his coworker’s approach, Arthur raised his hands in front of his chest and waved them back and forth in a display of defensive tenseness. No part of him wished to watch the video that Michaels had mentioned—this much could be inferred from the anxiety sewn into his profile. Claiming as much at this point was difficult, however. His gaze had lingered in Johnson’s direction for far too long, and past this, his relationship with the larger Pokemon was a positive one.

“A-Ah, t-that’s ok. I’m good—you guys h-have fu—“

Suddenly, Arthur found himself upright. Peeled from his seat by Johnson’s dominant hand, the larger Pokemon dragged him across the office as cordially as one could be dragged. Forced to toddle behind him like a child behind a parent, his frame followed along with his intent without hesitation.

His touch was one devoid of malice. Though they were both adults, struggling against such a placid invitation seemed pointless.

Soon enough, he found himself sandwiched between two of his coworkers in front of a monitor that was not his own.

“Yo, you just in time, b!” greeted Micheals. “Man, fuck you, Johnson. Acting like I’m weird for peeping this shit—even Art is tryna see this!”

Affirming his position to Arthur’s right, Johnson shook his head.

“Nah, you’re still fucked—Arthur’s only here because invited him.” he chuckled. “Anyway, you wanna go ahead and play the thing already? I’m down to risk my job for this, but sitting around wasting time is just asking to get caught.”

Evidently more interested in the video than further bantz with his co-worker, Michaels held his non-existent tongue. First drawing his mouse up to the play-button of the host website’s borderline non-functional, he clicked it, and subsequently retreated from the desktop’s front and center.

Sliding back into a crouched position in closer proximity to Arthur’s frame, a childish excitement overtook him.

“God, I love chilling with my boys, nigga!” he bellowed. “You faggots are going to go wild over this BEST BELIEVE. This is going to be tight!”

Strangely, Arthur agreed. At last a part of a male-bonding activity that did not involve his abuse, his feelings of discomfort were matched by feelings of belonging. Stoked by Michaels’ outbursts, the depression hidden away within his heart was eclipsed, and his awkwardness around others ameliorated.

He had found nirvana. Rather, it was granted to him. From the moment that Michaels initiated the video he had lauded to the instant its fade-in came to an end, the world was a place that the Ralts wished to be.

And then it wasn’t. One second of the video’s contents was all that was required to thrust Arthur back into the nervous abyss that he had struggled to escape.

One second, and a single, smiling face…

**MAN, ARTHUR IS MY BOY. MANS WORKED SO HARD TO GET WHERE HE IS AND NOW HE’S GETTING DONE LIKE THIS. LITERATURE IS FUCKED, B**

Depicted in the initial seconds of Micheals’ video was a POV scene dominated by obscenity, but accentuated by innocence.

Laid out across a sheet-less bed space were a pair of individuals—one entirely visible and the other not. The former individual, a female Gardevoir bordering 6 feet in height and owning feminine curvature and plumpness well beyond the ‘norm’ for her svelte species, could be seen laid out on her side across the width of the bed’s center.

Whereas the lime-green coloration of her arms suggested her identity to be that of a common female Gardevoir, the blue-green coloration (a trait unique to the shiny variation) of her pony-tailed hair and the jet-black eye-mask that daintily bordered her eyes rendered her true identity as somewhat ambiguous. Otherwise naked from head to toe and seemingly without a hint of shame in spite of the fact, the ‘air’ of her appearance somehow mirrored that of congenial, even-tempered matron in the midst of greeting her husband at the door to their home.

No matter how soothing, ‘air’ alone was ill-equipped to normalize her appearance. The thickness of her thighs as sandwiched atop one another in a comfortable ‘lounge’ atop the mattress was downplayed, yet the rounded hills of buttocks flesh above them were still teased by her position. The appreciably excessive fat offered by her rear and the nearly-athletic pertness that both of the doughy cheeks maintained were discernible from a mere glance at the pale arc peeking up from beneath her lower back. The sheer amount of flesh and meat in the former quality ought to have cancelled out the latter, yet for some reason, they existed in perfect harmony.

Given the presence of the bedroom’s second individual and the position of her frame relative to his, the female Gardevoir was, in truth, very far away from what the air of her presence implied. In truth, she was the female ‘lead’ in a pornographic video undoubtedly plastered all over the internet.

Precisely what kind of female lead could be inferred from the body underneath hers and the phallus situated ahead of her down the length of her counter-part’s frame.

Smothered underneath the bloated mass of her pale breasts and the leaking pancakes of areola flesh at their fronts was a human male. The ridiculous scope of her breasts rendered his skull invisible, but the exposure of his neck and the youth-sized frame that extended down from it more or less guaranteed his presence.

Motionless and silent, the youth’s status as a ‘participant’ in the scene was vouched for by the grotesque erection rooted at his crotch. Arcing backwards towards his midsection and away from its 90 degree point towards the ceiling, the mountainous pipe of drooling phallus-meat was one entirely inappropriate for the frame that it was attached to. Offering the girth of a healthy male bicep and a length bordering 1 ½ feet, its dimensions exceeded those of a healthy, adult male erection in almost every measurable aspect. What ‘normalcy’ the twitching spire offered to the naked eye was limited to the dark-red coloration of its engorged glans—a product of its owner’s pale skin being stressed by its girth—and the trailing of this redness down across an additional 30% of its length.

The rest of it was obscenity incarnate. Wriggling visibly across its face were pudgy veins covered by sweat-greased cock-flesh, the majority of which branched off from the root-like bulk of his urethra. Few in number yet intricately connected, the concise branch-system of pink-white cock-tendrils was made to seem more grotesque—and as a result, more virile—than it was in truth. A half dozen obese pipes twitching in connection with one another was enough to render its initial impression on the eye as menacing.

Disgustingly so.

Indifferent to her partner’s endowment or perhaps simply accustomed to it, the female Gardevoir’s eyes remained locked on the leaking endowment until a 5 second ‘introductory period’ elapsed.

At its end, she turned towards the viewer, and smiled—eyes closed and facial features warm.

“You all can see me, can’t you?” the female Gardevoir began. “You know exactly what I am, and you know that there is a little boy laying here with me. It’s all obvious, but for those of you who can’t put two and two together…”

Mid-utterance, the female Gardevoir drew her left arm up from off of its settlement atop her diminutive partner’s thighs. Bending the limb inward into a suspended hang by the left side of her face, she spread its index and middle fingers away from one another in the formation of a ‘peace’ sign, and finally flicked her wrist inward to horizontally frame her eye between the two digits.

With this, the sultry expression on her face became a girlish smile.

“ **I’m a fucking animal** —a piece of weaponized livestock for humans to breed and discard as they please.” the Pokemon stated. “I can’t say the same for any of the other Pokemon of my species, but I know that viewing myself this way isn’t wrong. SEPH started out this way—not by choice, of course, but its apart of who we are.”

“It always will be—I’ve just accepted that thought instead of rejecting it.” she finished.

As these words left her lips, her closed eyes sprang open to present an expression of genuine surprise. Subsequently, her hand popped up to her mouth and settled the tips of its fingers against her lips. As if suddenly reminded of something, these gestures culminated in the release of an airy giggle from the back of her throat.

“Oh, please forgive me—I haven’t even introduced myself.” she continued. “You’ll be seeing me quite a bit in the future, so please call me K. If you find that hard to remember, you’re always welcome to refer to me as “the married SEPH fuckmeat addicted to the cock stench of a child”. My daughters sometimes refer to me that way, so I think it works as well as my name ♥.”

“Anyway…”

Seemingly finished with her introduction, K extended her left hand back down into contact with the baseball-bat of cock-flesh that extended upward from her partner’s crotch. As her hand approached it, she spread her fingers apart from one another to fully expose the surface of her palm. Following contact between this region and the right side of her partner’s member, she viciously folded each one of her fingers around the girth of his shaft’s underside. Whilst her thumb was pressed into an ineffective compression of the bulbous assortment of phallus veins bunched up at the root of his cock’s face, her fingers aptly smothered the abnormally-rigid beginnings of his urethra and all of the flesh that surrounded the meat-encased tube.

“Since I’m sure that none of you came here just to listen to me talk, I’m going to start the show that my trainer suggested for me. He’s right under here, so if you have anyone to thank for what you see here, it would be him.” she added.

  
“And while I’m at it…”

Without warning, the welcoming congeniality K presented was replaced by a sinister disdain.

“If you happen to be the **useless faggot** of a husband that I married, I sincerely hope that what you see finally pushes that brittle twig you call a psyche into fucking divorcing me.”

Contained within this utterance was more venom than seemed appropriate for K’s demeanor. The words that comprised it were uttered with a smile and her facial features had hardly shifted, yet its toxicity remained both blatant and piercing enough to be perceived as cutting by viewers that it did not concern.

For these individuals, the feelings of hurt and betrayal evoked by K’s admonishment did not last long. As soon as she finished speaking, the hand that she had smothered against her trainer’s shaft began sliding up and down the impossible girth of his endowment at a sharp and punishing pace. First scaling the tower of meat and veins to its tip, K ‘reconvened’ her thumb and fingers at the nose of her trainer’s glans in the formation of an all-encompassing umbrella. Between the undersides of her fingers and palm, her hand maintained just enough surface area to obscure the reddened meat of her trainer’s cocktip and plug-up the perpetual leakage of its tip.

Temporarily, of course.

Seconds following the initial ascent she made with her hand, her coverage of the region was ‘sullied’ by a dull explosion of precum out from underneath her palm. Muted and mild, the eruption of sexual lubricant was flattened out along the bulk of her trainer’s glans by the maintenance of her palm’s position, and was soon enough granted a varied, murky drizzle down along the vulgar tower of cockmeat beneath its point of release.

With this, K began to work. Teasing an uncanny sexual prowess, the descent of these semen-riddled loggies prompted her to begin making use of the wealth of gunk trapped underneath her palm. Instead of dragging her cock-affixed limb back down the length of her trainer’s shaft and applying a veil of precum atop its sweaty luster, she drew the tips of her fingers inwards towards her palm until each one sat atop a patch of cockmeat fractions of an inch away from his glans’ crown. This done, she flattened the digits individually to trap the top-most inches of her suitor’s endowment within a slender, lubricant-gunked cock-vice shaped to mirror a contracted crane claw. Palm settled into a claustrophobic press against his urethra and fingers settled to impose the same stifling compression onto the inches of cockmeat beneath it, the final product of her transition was a hand position akin to an intimate clasping of one’s hand to a doorknob.

K did no turning with the knob that she had captured. Following formation, breakneck wrenches of her wrist in clockwise and counterclockwise rotations swirled the slimy exterior of her palm and fingers all about the captured inches of her suitor’s glans. Through these, she hastily subjected the nerve endings threaded into the reddened region to a stimulation that was as much a slovenly grind as it was greasy-smother.

Achieving such a varied pleasure was no small feat. The speed at which K executed her phallus-wringing glide argued otherwise, but it remained apparent that her efforts maintained a great deal of nuance—if not to the average viewer, then to those willing to look past the sultry smile that K wore and the cock-starved manipulation of her wrist.

Accompanying each of the clockwise wrenches of her wrist was a significant drop off in the force with which she pressed her fingers down into her trainer's length. From the beginning of the rotation right up to the beginning of its counter-clockwise counter-part, K danced her fingers in and out of contact with the surface of her trainer’s glans. Pantomiming a piano rendition, she squeezed, tapped, and rubbed her digits against his slimy flesh such that her fingers seemed to be carried by a wave.

Described shortly, these motions constituted approximately half of the ‘slovenly grind’ imposed onto her trainer’s member. The fluttery slide of her digits atop his cock tip’s surface smeared old and new precum across its exterior in varied amounts, and all the while ensured that a certain amount of pressure was squeezed around half the girth of his member.

Conversely, it was the counter-clockwise wrenches of her wrist that made up the ‘smothering’ of his member. Nearly mechanized in execution, each clockwise grind of K’s palm was reversed halfway around the circumference of her trainer’s phallus. With this, her loosened fingers snapped inwards and clamped downward to recreate the doorknob-like smother she had started with. Consequentially, the reversal of her palm back around his glans was completed with its entirety mashed into a woefully insufficient vice comprised of cock-greased flesh. By the time K’s palm was drawn past its initial start point and through to a cloying ‘hug’ of the other half of his member, the pressure applied by her vice forced several sludgy blurts of precum through his length and out against the exterior of her palm and fingers. Undaunted by the progressive drenching of her hand, K completed each of these wrenches without noticeable difficulty, and followed each one with a complimentary clockwise stir.

By itself, K’s oscillation between these two motions sets and the speed and expertise that she displayed in doing so was more than enough to legitimize it as pornographic content (as opposed to some kind of intimate prank).

Legitimacy was not what K sought, however. As she worked, it was made increasingly apparent that there was a message that she wished to convey to her viewers. Rather than focusing herself solely on pleasuring the youth smothered underneath her breasts—and the viewer by proxy—her eyes remained glued to the camera ahead of her as though her partner wasn’t actually present. The massive cock that she was pleasuring and the stirring of her palm remained visible, but compared to the crazed congeniality on K’s face, it almost wasn’t worth attending to.

“There, **this** is much more interesting for you, isn’t it?” she suggested, voice returned to its initial inviting sultriness. “The way that I’m moving my hand right now is something that I learned from my trainer—something that I learned by accepting the fact that I was born to be another breeding pig destined to birth as many children as my trainer desires of me.”

Quizzically, this utterance drained a great deal of sensuality from K’s expression. Apparently mild by nature, her tone shifted to match this flatness as well.

“Just learning to stroke and squeeze a stinking human cock like this required that I forget how to do a lot of other things. I can’t even cook the way my husband likes anymore, but he’s too much of a compliant little bitch to call me out on it. He doesn’t even seem to notice that my hands constantly reek of a human’s cock juice, either—it’s almost sad, really...”

With this, K intentionally shifted her gaze back towards the phallus that she was pleasuring. Licking her lips from corner to corner, she swiftly turned her gaze back towards her viewers.

This time, she treated them to eyes lidded with a perverse hunger and lips coated on both sides with strands spittle.

“But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? I’m here because I want to have the stench of human virility injected into my brain over and over again. I’m here because I want to have it mashed into my pores—I want to **stink** of human cock juice so that everyone around me will know what I am without me having to even say a word.” she continued.

Still drooling, a soft giggle rumbled out from the back of her throat.

“I _especially_ hope that my husband is watching this. Not because I want to hurt him—he’s already had to deal with so many other people taking advantage of how much of a brittle bitch he is.” she added. “I want him to see this and **divorce me** already. That way, he’ll be someone else’s problem, and I won’t have to go to lengths like this to show people that I’d rather snort a human child’s baby juice right out of his crotch than mate with another limp-dick reject of my species…”

Just as the shift in her intonation had suggested, K’s demeanor delved further into the realm of the obscene. All at once, she pressed herself further forward to deepen her eye-contact with her viewers. Holding her angled position throughout the shift (and further accentuating her trainer’s cock in the process), she stopped herself at a point that allowed her facial features to completely consume the right side of her scene’s camera shot.

With this, she injected further energy into her right hand to see the soaked grinding ministrations applied by her palm accelerated. Knowing full well that her trainer’s shaft now sat at the front and center of her audience’s view, she went out of her way to intensify her preparative teasing in the messiest and noisiest manner possible. Abruptly, her well-paced molestation of his glans became a vehement volley between the two masturbatory patterns that comprised it. The taut, swirling-finger dance that she performed became a pretense for sinking her fingers as deeply into the boy’s sensitive phallus as her meagre hand-strength could muster. Similarly, the restrictive knob-grasps she produced became comparable the envelopment of a volcano’s peak within a ‘catcher’.

Produced in the process were heavy blurts of precum whose contents were swirled around his glans’ circumference prior to beginning on their own jaded descents across his mast. Unlike those that had preceded them, **these** were thick enough to see the depressive swirling of her fingers altered for the better. Following the onset of K’s intensity-injection, these ministrations began to produce muddy *PLITCH*(s) timed to the moments at which her fingers pulled out of contact with their beloved phallus.

So evocative were these noises that, were it that their shared source was invisible, one would have no difficulty imagining their own unique and disgustingly-effective handjob to go along with them.

Their source was visible, however. From the introduction of these noses right into their reproduction, K’s manipulation of her precum-caked hand in the expert pseudo-handjob she had learned from her trainer was entirely apparent to her audience.

Despite her achievement, K did not derive any additional pleasure from her work. If she was not working towards filling one of her holes with the tarred nut swirling within her trainer’s balls or snorting his poisonous aroma into her sinuses, her accomplishments did not warrant celebration. Not so far as she was concerned, at least.

This was not to say she did not enjoy herself. As the additional attention she had drawn to herself did nothing for her libido, she used the resource as a means with which to create for herself satisfaction of an entirely different sort.

Eyes focused on her audience, she spoke.

“…I know you. You’re watching, aren’t you?” she suggested. “You won’t admit it, but you get off to more porn that a married man should ever have to use.”

“You don’t do it because you hate me, though, do you? No—you love me more than you’ll ever love yourself. Deep down you know that I deserve more of a reward than that watery slime you call cum, so you waste as much of it as you can stroking yourself to women that aren’t me.” she taunted.

Momentarily, K peeked ahead of herself such that her profile remained still, but her eyes and adoration were sent backwards towards her trainer’s member.

Eyes curled towards it, she continued speaking as though the nameless individual she had addressed was no longer present.

“Do you see what you’re missing ♥? Look at what my hand can do to a cock that’s actually thicker than a pencil? I’m working my wrist as hard as I can, but all I can really do is fold and lather my trainer’s dick juice all over his cock. My palm is no better than a tiny, useless fleshlight for him, but he’ll use it anyway.”

“Because that’s his fucking **right** ♥. I **owe** it to him—understand, bitch?”

(Woah, calm down, jeez.)

"Look at it! Watch my hand fold and stir his greasy precum all over his cock! Watch me use my hand as a pointless fucktoy for his pleasure!" she bellowed. "You have to understand how worthless you are, dear! Do your best to burn it into your brain while I use myself like a sentient breeding sow for my betters' pleasure!"

Though she claimed otherwise, K's efforts did not gain much more intensity than they had already achieved. Just as she had noted, her physical capabilities had a ceiling; there was only so much pleasure she could rub into her trainer's cock with a single hand.

In spite of this, the effort that she expended after demanding that her nameless addressee pay attention to her efforts seemed much 'happier' than that which had preceded it. Her smile had widened, and the warmth that bled from her features had somehow become balmier.

To her viewers, this difference was obvious. K was content to provide those watching her with masturbatory fuel, but what truly spurred her onward was her desire to make one in particular amongst them rue the day he had decided to couple with her.

Further proof of this fact streamed from her lips within seconds of her initial outburst. This time, however, revulsion could be discerned as mingling with the female Gardevoir's matronly tone.

"Get it into your fucking head and divorce me already! You're not good enough and you never were! No female Pokémon with the slightest grasp on what she is would ever allow herself to be bred by you. There's more sperm in a single drop of stinking ♥, human ♥, ball juice ♥than you'll ever produce in your life! For prime females, that's all that matters!" she shouted.

"Divorce me! Divorceme Divorceme Divorceme!" inexplicably, the timing of the words that she released began to match the pace at which she applied her palm to her trainer's shaft. "Your children aren't even fucking yours! All of them were spewed into me by the same cock you're looking at right now! I can still remember what its squirmy veins felt like throbbing and writhing against my cunt while my trainer emptied his balls inside of me!

"Feels bad, doesn't it ♥? Hearing that your wife's cunt was fucked into an obedient human cock-sleeve must make you feel awful h)!"

"You deserve it, though!" finally, condescension found its way into the tone of her delivery. "You dared to try to have more than a useless faggot deserves, and this is the price you're going to pay. You're going to watch your loving wife snort human cock juice into her brain like a fucking retard !"

"And she's going to love every second of i--"

Motion.

Privy to the escalation of K's tirade and the less-than-ideal end-point set out for it, the human child smothered underneath her breasts stirred in hopes that the SEPH might hold her tongue. Squirming upwards, he progressively dragged himself out from under the weight of her breasts until the back of his head popped into the shot captured by the scene's recording device.

I.E

\---------------- . ------------------ *The second arrow depicts the direction of

K’s breasts -----> . her trainer’s upward slide from under her breasts

\----------------- \/ ------------------

Trainer’s head

Once upright, the faceless youth spoke.

“Alright, that’s about enough I think. People do enjoy when you talk all hateful like that, but it’s probably getting hard for them to tell if you actually hate them or not, y’know?” he suggested.

At once, the hateful air about K vanished. Somehow returned to her mild baseline, she blinked in apparent astonishment at her own behavior. Afterwards nodding her head in agreement, she committed herself to a silent adherence towards whatever words or behavior might come from her trainer next.

Naturally, the mechanical speed of her pseudo-handjob remained just as impressive as it had been all throughout.

“Here, let’s try it this way.” raising his left hand, the boy pointed towards the Pokemon at his front. “Gardevoir, use **psychic**.”

With these words, K’s composure vanished. Her facial features tightened into a smiley grimace that exposed her fang-like teeth, and her eyes rolled upward within their sockets as if searching for a visual snapshot of her brain. As soon as they reached the peak of her eye-sockets, a thin trail of dark-red blood was forced out of her right nostril into a telling dribble across her upper lip.

At a glance, it seemed as though the very core of K’s being had been electrocuted. Strictly speaking, it had been—for a SEPH, there existed no greater pleasure (or pain) than the activation of their ability cortex.

Not far behind the discharge of blood from her nose came a larger, heavier expulsion of fluid from between her legs. Largely hidden from K’s viewers by the compression of her thighs and the slant of her frame, the unmistakable hiss of compressed fluid from out of a reservoir and the decadent splatter of this gooey fluid against a pair of meaty thighs ensured that those paying attention were not denied perception of K’s orgasm.

Though very clearly overtaken by her release (this marked by the unhinged giggles that seeped from the back of her throat and the ‘hold’ of her euphoric trance some seconds after the event), K did not allow her mental state to deny her trainer his command.

Abandoning her teasing of his member, she raised her left hand in an invocation of her psychic abilities. With it, she dragged the camera mounted above the back of her trainer’s head into midair and suspended it above its perch.

Next, she slid herself downward. Holding her left hand as it had been, she trailed down from her position at her trainer’s side to one set out on her knees behind his member. Here, she curled her left wrist inward to drag the still-suspended camera inwards. Halting its ingress several inches above her trainer’s pectorals (chest height for her knee-planted frame), she in doing so granted her viewers a much better idea of the scale of her frame relative to his own.

If not for the ivory tower of over-stuffed cockmeat twitching ahead of her midsection, the disparity between their heights would have appeared to most as very…’disconcerting’ given the sex acts the pair had engaged in.

With it present, however, these same individuals were cajoled into the same opinion:

The two of them were perfect for one another.

With her moves complete, K dropped her hand back down to her side to bind the camera to its current position. Displaying ludicrous amounts of psychic ability and feverish cocklust, she successfully maintained the device’s motionlessness throughout a starved lunge towards her trainer’s cock. Right hand outstretched, she curled its index finger around as much of his phallus’ girth as the thin digit could muster, and dug the face of its thumb into a pointless squish against the iron-rubber bulk of his urethra. Simultaneously, she popped her skull inwards and downwards to begin peppering the reeking log’s crown with a mixture of affectionate kisses and suckles.

Try as she might to continue ‘pacing’ her shared scene as a professional, K’s hunger got the better of her. Seconds of inhaling the sweaty, semen-tinged miasma hanging around her suitor’s cock saw her part her lips, and shamelessly smash the ruinous breeding pipe’s length down her throat inch by esophagus-fattening inch. Stopping only after a foot of sex-flavored cock had been dragged across her tongue—the tip of this foot squeezed through her esophagus down to a curved ‘point down towards her stomach—the mush of her lips against her trainer’s hairless crotch served as the ‘OK’ signal for her trainer to continue speaking.

“Sorry about that—she can get pretty out of hand at times.” the trainer explained. “She used to be a lot quieter…almost kinda sullen now that I think about. Giving birth to her kids and snorting so much of my cum probably ended up doing something weird to her brain.”

“But yeah,”

Still faceless to his audience, the boy raised his left hand in a point back down towards K’s face. Holding the gesture for some time after its performance, he purposelessly ‘bent’ the scene’s focal point away from himself and back towards the cock-skewered woman working at his crotch.

“You didn’t pick this video to hear a retard like her talk, right? Human or SEPH, you’re watching this because you wanted to watch a pig debase her entire species and gargle some cock juice.” the boy suggested.

“Or at least I assume you are.” finally dropping his left hand, a lackadaisical exhalation blew past the youth’s lips—the sort released by an individual largely indifferent to the events occurring around them. “If I’m right, you’re in luck. She basically won’t stop until my nut is leaking out of her fucking nose, so you’ll have plenty to enjoy if that’s your thing.”

“If you’re that loser that she was talking about, I guess that’d actually equate to some pretty painful shit though, haha!”

Just as had been the case with K, a hint of emotion consumed the boy’s placid tone with time. Unlike her, however, the feelings discernable from his shift in tone were not at all negative. By the sound of his voice alone, one could tell that the youth was genuinely amused at the arousal and suffering that his Pokemon had doled out.

It went without saying that the positive affect that he felt was not shared amongst the audience presently observing the rise and fall of K’s skull. From the very moment the boy had pointed down at her face, all those still viewing the scene had been made to forget his presence, and prompted to repurpose their mental resources in the observation of a facefucking session.

As it turned out, K was every bit the pig that her trainer had made her out to be. Subsequent to the first plunge of her skull and the engorgement of her esophagus with her suitor’s ludicrous erection came an ascent that matched it in vehemence. Perversely spread lips made to ascend along the reddened meat of her trainer’s shaft, the muted gleam of sweat and precum that had previously ‘enhanced’ the phallus’ visual qualities was replaced by spittle for each inch that she climbed. Less than a second after the beginning of her jump, both of her mouth’s plump, cock-greased pillows could be seen returned to a loving, pubic-hair flecked suckle at her lover’s cocktip.

K wasted no time here, either. Far too famished to attempt satiating herself with gulps of smemga or slurps against the mess of precum her hand had smeared to his glans’ surface, the end of her ascent saw her drive her lips straight back down to her trainer’s cock-root. Curling her skull throughout the blinding dive, her lips’ return to the increasingly-sludgy base of her trainer’s shaft biased their placement off to the left side of his crotch.

On impact, her eyes snapped upwards. Heart-swelled irises conveying an affection-flecked sexual hunger handed her audience a reason to focus on her face as opposed to her lips. If only for a moment, sure ensured that the wired pubic hairs glued to the corners of her lips and the mucus trickling out from her right nostril were as evident to them as the leakage of throatslop between her lips.

As well, she made certain to ‘smile’ as they laid eyes on her. Though limited to the use of her eyes and cheeks, she made certain that all those who laid eyes on her in this instance would see a woman all too happy with the disgusting mess she had made of herself.

This done, she went right back to applying herself. Abruptly, she wrenched herself back up to the tip of her trainer’s member to begin her cycle of ascent and descent anew. Seemingly without any sort of gag-reflex or ‘limit’ to the abandon with which she could fatten her neck with an unkempt human cock, the unfolding of her efforts quickly took on the appearance of a consciousness and shameless woman in the midst of purposing her gullet as a grimy ‘mouth-pussy’ defined for her partner’s pleasure.

No matter the terms by which one defined a mouth-pussy, some part of K’s display validated her face as such. Whilst pressing her lips along the span of her trainer’s shaft, her lips displayed the same sort of mild elasticity one might observe from an over-matched pair of labial lips. Additionally, a dense, murky-white syrup churned to fruition within her esophagus regularly spluttered out from the corners of her lips throughout her skull's descent. The thickness of this steaming muck and its inability to cleanly pool at the base of her trainer’s crotch prior to her lips arrival there was eerily similar to discharges of cunt-syrup from out of a too-stuffed vaginal canal. Even the final product wrought from these things—a slanted mash of her lips into layered slob mounted atop a nubile crotch—seemed far too remiscent of vaginal sex to be discounted as such.

Amongst K’s viewers, the primary argument against what was apparent was built atop the sights produced by her lips’ ascent. The elasticity and leakiness inherent to the facial pillows was equally evident throughout these stretches. Differently, K’s tongue could be seen engaged in the delivery of a flurry of gooey lashes against her trainer’s cock-surface for each inch that they travelled up his spire. The wild movements that her mouth’s organ was put up to resulted in several fractions of it peeking out from underneath her lips at unpredictable intervals. No discernable rhyme or reason could observed in these flashes—only more of the slovenly hunger that had prompted K to engulf her suitor’s cock in the first place.

Appearances aside, these tongue lashes were not without purpose. More often than not, their streaking carried residual smears of throatslop left from earlier plunges of K’s skull into her mouth, or further across the surface area of her trainer’s member. Like this, her gullet’s mucus-based lubricant was evenly plastered across the hill-like veins mounted atop its surface, and even allowed to pool into a visible ‘caking’ to the stretches of cockmeat in between them.

Naturally, the work done by her tongue was repeatedly erased by subsequent dives of her skull, and afterwards reapplied by the instances of ascent that followed them. Nevertheless, her viewers had ammunition; no mere vaginal canal could provide such an obscene scrubbing to the exterior of a cock.

To those of this opinion, K’s lips and throat exceeded the definitional limits of a ‘mouth pussy’ in quality. So far as they were concerned, the beginnings of the Gardevoir’s G.I tract were being purposed as a fabricated fuckhole that few human males would live to experience.

Ultimately, the split opinions of K’s viewers changed little in regards to what the musk-drink SEPH had engaged herself in. Based solely on the throat-slop that regularly spurted out from underneath her lips and the repeated *GLRP—GLRP—GLRP* that echoed from the back of her throat each time she hilted her trainer’s member down into her esophagus, an unbiased observer would define her actions as an especially brutal (and messy) instance of oral sex.

K’s trainer was one such observer. Having subjected the massive SEPH to sexual acts far more violent and putrid than what she was enduring at present, his view of proceedings was decidedly non-plussed.

K’s efforts were admiral, but base. His knowledge of her habits marked her performance as one steeped in hunger more so than technical ability, and served as a reiteration of a fact that he had already internalized: **Female SEPH were happiest when siphoning semen out of humans, or being used as meat with which to breed their young.**

Succinctly, her display was nothing new. As very little changed about her presentation from its introduction onward, the passage of several minutes prompted him to once again inject himself into proceedings.

This time raising his right hand, he spoke.

“Jeez, you are such a fucking slob when it comes to bloating your guts with cock, huh?” he chuckled wryly. “ And here I thought you’d try to show a bit of decorum to the nice people at home. I guess once you blow slop bubbles out of your nose once, doing it in front of other people stops mattering so much...”

Still consumed by her trainer’s cock, K could not be bothered to produce a response to his insult. She’d have welcomed it were she able to, but in the moment, the most that she could manage was another cock-clogged gargling of throatslop around the pulsing meat compressed at the back of her throat.

Amused, her trainer forgot his disgust towards her simplicity and continued with his orders as planned.

“Everyone watching is going to get bored if all you do is make yourself look like brainless animal, though. All of your talking a little while ago was probably too much, though, so how about this:

**“It’s time for your feeding, ‘K’. Obedient SEPH pigs like you know how to ask for their meals properly, don’t they?”**

Yet again, K acted without hesitation. Spurred on by a sensation different from the activation of her brain’s command centers, she forced her face up from the root of her trainer’s crotch until her spread lips popped off of his erection’s bloated glans. Trailing viscous strands of sputum up along the sullied spire as she went, the final disengagement of her mouth from his glans left the once-sodden cock-region utterly caked in her honeyed-throatslop.

Not a drop of this substance went to waste. Acting in adherence to her trainer’s command, K raised both of her hands up to the crown of his shaft. Next, she smothered both of her palms inwards to finally encapsulate the beet-red cock-section into a vice suited for it. In its formation, she threaded her fingers in-between one another, and progressively increased the pressure imposed on either side of the phallus up to an orifice-like extent. This imposition ‘juiced’ the sludge mounted to her trainer’s member up through the creases of her fingers, and in doing so granted her fingers and palms the lubrication that they would soon require to function.

With this, K began stroking. Purposing both of her palms as another masturbatory device, she hurriedly stimulated her trainer’s glans in anticipation of her feeding.

Proof that she had actually comprehended the words that her trainer had produced came several seconds into the gesture. Mouth drawn agape, the female Gardevoir teased the dense meat of her tongue towards her audience via a series of wriggles and writhes before finally purposing the organ in speech.

“Please feed me ♥ F-Feed me your chewy baby-juice! Shoot it so deeply down my throat it splatters out of my fucking nose ♥.” she cooed. “I want it I want it I **waaaaaant** it~! I wanna taste the gluey sperm cells that impregnated me instead of husband. I want to feel human cock juice swirling and swelling inside my stomach!”

K did not merely beg. In tandem with her utterances, the double-ended palm sleeve she had pressed around her trainer’s cock was repeatedly pressed up and down the span of his glans to squelch-inducing effect. Kept stringent by K’s intent and nasty by the cock-slime coating her fingers, the *SCHRLP* produced by her ministrations only grew louder as time passed.

Not to be outdone by a by-product of one of her actions, K pushed herself to continue providing her trainer with reasons to feed her. In between her utterances, she regularly pushed and held her tongue out of her mouth to flaunt its cock-milking flesh in front of those still watching her. Whereas she **could** have manipulated it as she had earlier, she instead used it to present herself as the animal that she claimed to be. Panting and groaning with a debased, yet somehow adorable hunger, these instances of exposure were punctuated by an idle, dog-like dangle for her tongue and the outflow of saliva strands across its surface.

For all of these complexities, these periods of tongue-flaunting were few and far between.

“I-I only want to taste human jizz! I-I’m such a f-fuckin’ whore for it that I reek o-of it on a daily basis. I-I’ll die if I can’t feel your cock sludge clogging my throat and your stink dick stink burning my nostrils ♥.” she cooed. “T-That’s why your Gardevoir wants you to shoot out as m-much you can r-right down her drooling throat-cunt♥ M-Make it so t-that my breath stinks of i-it when it’s time for m-me to kiss him today ♥.”

Mania notwithstanding, K performed well all throughout her animalistic begging. Her eyes remained trained on the camera ahead of her as opposed to the human youth that she loved, and when they were not, curled inward in cross-eyed appreciation of the swollen cock that she was pleasuring. Separately, not a single second of stroking passed without some form of smile being apparent on her face.

Her trainer appreciated this. Much more ‘involved’ with her efforts as a result of his pent erection and the manner in which it was milked, the boy acknowledged her debased begging and gooey stroking both for what they conveyed and what they provided him.

Yet again, K had made it apparent that she did not intend to go back to the way that she once was. Whether she knew it or not, she had also conveyed to her viewers that the mind of a female SEPH could be reduced to a malleable pin-cushion given enough exposure to a single stimuli: Human cock.

As her trainer, he couldn’t have asked for a better performance than this. As such, he let himself go. First releasing the rigid hold that he had placed on himself throughout K’s efforts, he subsequently threw his head backwards to begin enjoying her efforts ‘for real’.

No sooner did he commit himself to this did his frame fail him. All at once, a surge of bliss conducted from the base of his spine up through to the root of his cock disturbed the fragile equilibrium maintained within balls. Whilst further semen was pumped into the engorged reservoir at his member’s root, the reservoir itself was robbed of all of its internal supports.

Consequentially, it burst. Behind the release of a pleasured grunt from the youth’s throat, a knotted strand of discoloured, harshly-scented cock juice exploded from the base of his crotch up through a taxing wriggle up the length of his urethra. Bloating the tube inches through which it rose and occasionally shaping its malleable flesh into unpredictable zig-zags and curves, its eventual eruption from the tip of the youth’s cock was backed by only a fraction of the pressure that originally propelled it. Nevertheless, what pressure backed it still proved sufficient in blurting out the curdled, triple-thick thread outwards and upwards into contact with K’s face.

Happily startled by the strand’s release, K did not attempt to avoid the yellow-white mire’s affixation to her face. If anything, she welcomed it. Statuesque throughout its release, she spent its brief period of airtime enjoying the rank stench of fresh semen that had merged with her musky airspace. Whilst the strand’s contents were messily drawn across a diagonal bisection of her face (beginning above her left eyebrow and extending across the bridge of her nose down into a caking of her right jaw), she appeared happier than she had been at any point throughout her coupling with the boy who had produced it.

She had not forgotten her hunger, however. Before a second strand of nut could be regurgitated through her trainer’s shaft, K peeled her hands off of his glans, and snapped her skull inwards to ensure that her ‘meal’ did not go to waste. Fanged maw exposed, she engulfed his glans, and smashed her skull straight down along the convulsing tower until her lips were reintroduced to the congealed mess of fluids built up at his crotch. Free from visible signs of discomfort right up to the congested *GRLPP ♥* released by the hilting of the youth’s member, her eyes naturally curled upwards to bathe her suitor with yet more mindless affection.

All of these acts were completed just in time to allow the second rope of semen released by the youth a relatively clean shot directly into her stomach. Following the addition of its cloying warmth to the depths of her esophagus and the beginnings of her stomach, K began to drink.

Now was the time to reward herself—thinking about her performance could come later…

-

**HOW’S IT GOING ARTHUR? YOU GOOD, DOG?**

Arthur had attempted to excuse himself from observation of his co-worker’s video on several occasions. Whispers about the work that remained for him to do trickled weakly from the back of his throat. Whines as to the possibility of one of their supervisors approaching bordered these, and short-lived protests as to the inappropriate content that they were observing complimented them.

Fundamentally, no part of him wished to take in the video’s contents. Despite this, he stood still and observed it just as his coworkers did. No matter how he begged his limbs to carry him away from the monitor or turn his line of sight away from it, the unsettled depression threaded into his heart demanded that he stand and attend as Johnson had suggested.

Masochism was not his body’s aim—contrary to K’s comments, his frame was one that prioritized the avoidance of pain above all else. Though Arthur himself took naught but arousal and discomfort from the video’s contents, the abilities that defined him as a psychic Pokemon took from it a number of clues related to his long-standing distress.

Bit by bit, his abilities became more certain of something. Pieces of information inferred from K’s comments and the debased hunger that she continually displayed were compared amongst one another and sorted until another conclusion took shape:

**Contained within the video was the cause for the depressed self-loathing that threatened to destroy Arthur from the inside out.**

Tragically, the timing of his psyche’s processing rendered this conclusion as vaguely discernable to him only after K had slammed her skull through a final starved encapsulation of her trainer’s cock.

By this point, Arthur was far too invested in the abhorrent sight to be drawn away from it. Try as he might to focus on the knowledge he had gained and drag his eyes away from K’s display, he could not help but stand in dedicated observation of K’s stomach-depth oral creampie.

Following K’s dive, very little about the scene that his eyes captured changed. At the front and center of the screen was K’s face—hearts glowing within her irises and cheeks smattered with cock-grease and pubic hair. Her skull remained motionless post descent, and her lips remained partly-visible amidst the phallic grime created during her throat-fucking session.

Soon, however, the scene changed. No sooner did K complete her descent did audible *GLORP*(s) begin echoing out from her face. In time with them, the position of K’s skull hiccupped ever-so-slightly to its immediate left and right, and her lips curled further inward in what seemed to be an attempt at applying more pressure to the cockmeat surrounding her trainer’s urethra.

Arthur was no fool. Given all he had seen and the distinctly glutted quality of the chained noises, only one event could have produced them.

K was swallowing. One voluminous cock-juice strand at a time, she had committed herself to swallowing down the same, off-white custard-slime denaturing across her face. 

It was difficult for her as well. Her frame responded positively each time a burst of molten-sludge was spewed out into the esophagus inches nearest her stomach, but the decibel level of the *GLROPS* produced by her jizz chugging conveyed a great deal of strain. To him, it sounded as though she was attempting to push a heady mouthfuls’ worth of boiling cement into her stomach each time one of the noises rumbled out of the monitor’s speakers. Considered alongside the adaptive nature of a SEPH female’s esophagus and stomach capacity, it was likely that a great deal of chunked residue remained glued to her esophagus lining following each of her gulps, and equally likely that the capacity of her stomach was being consumed by cock juice at an alarming pace.

As a SEPH both ignorant and naïve, Arthur could not imagine a more uncomfortable event for an adult woman. So far as he was concerned, suffocating on a reeking cock as it coated the confines one’s stomach with innumerable streaks of dense reproductive-sewage could not be considered as an act of love.

At best, it was the contrivance of a whore—one too invested in her craft to ever be considered as deserving of genuine love.

*GRLP—GLORP—GRLP*

The longer that Arthur listened to K’s chugging was the more certain of his conclusion he became. Despite this, he remained incapable of a making one extremely vital connection—No matter what he heard or saw, his mind refused to classify K as the twisted whore that she had presented herself to be. If coincidence could be blamed for his coming into contact with the video in the first place, his inability to accept this fact was a fault entirely his own.

Some seconds into her gulping, further proof of K’s identity was handed out in spades.

By this point, the sludgy bursts of cock juice introduced into her stomach by her swallowing had filled her stomach well past its already-ludicrous capacity. A minute of chunked nut threads being shot out against the organ’s flooring and vomited into obscene splatters against its walls had been enough to well a putrid pool of the substance within it.

One large enough to warrant immediate and vigorous rejection.

Though invisible to K’s viewers, this body of fluid progressively inflated the fat-padded curvature of K’s middle into a strained mimicry of a beachball. Following formation, the continued spurting of cum from her trainer’s member resulted in a reflexive surge of excess cock juice back up through her esophagus at an alarming pace.

Still, K remained motionless. The regurgitation of several mouthfuls of muddy semen from underneath her lips was not enough to move her. The drowning of her lips in lukewarm, writhing nut was irrelevant. Sluggish blurts of the substance from out of both of her nostrils was to her a flattering gift that only her trainer could provide.

Thusly, she remained as she had been—a SEPH engorging herself on the same stinking dick-milk that had bred her ancestors into insanity.

At this creature did Arthur stare until even he could not help but see the beauty in it. He stared and he stared, burning his eyes into the monitor screen ahead of him in hopes that what it depicted might become a part of reality.

It never did. Moments before Arthur could be consumed by his despair-fashioned trance, the scene playing out across the monitor disappeared.

Eyes immediately snapping down to its on/off switch, Arthur found that Michaels had shut it off.

“You know what, in retrospect…” Michaels began, both sets of arms crossed at his chest. “That was actually kind of gay, yeah. I’m sorry, boys, I ain’t mean to do no gay shit. I just thought the video was tight.”

“We can still be boys, right?” suddenly, his intonation shifted to that of a plea. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad—tell me we can still be boys, dog.”

Ambivalent as to the video’s contents and unoffended by Michaels’ attempt at camaraderie, Johnson shrugged his shoulders to convey precisely how little he cared either way.

Arthur said nothing. Dead for all intents and purposes, he hadn’t heard a word that Michaels’ had uttered.

Even now, the only thing that he could hear was her voice.

Not K’s.

Kaona’s.


	4. Sibling Upbringing

**THE ABSOLUTE STATE OF HUMAN-SEPH RELATIONS**

When first the education of SEPH and human children were integrated with one another, concerns as to how education systems worldwide would adjust to the 'developmental curve' followed by the former species arose among parents of the latter.

In terms of emotional and behavioural development, SEPH children and human children were not dissimilar. Research groups consisting of both humans and SEPH would go no further than arguing for a predilection towards docility among SEPH children, but this in itself was attributable to the fact that the majority of them were female.

The 'dividing line' between the species (and the root issue presented by human parents) centred on physical development. As infants, SEPH and humans were comparable. As children, SEPH and humans were comparable. As adolescents—and all stages of growth beyond— it was not uncommon for the physical development of SEPH to sharply outpace the growth of their human counterparts.

This difference was especially prevalent in females. Not including the inherent height and body structure increases induced by Pokemon evolution, the average developing SEPH female boasted a bust, hip width, and overall female asset set unheard of amongst humans. From as early as nine years of age, SEPH could found sporting cup-sizes ranging from D-F, and a complimentarily obscene hip width belied by relatively underweight statures.

The outcry from the parents of humanity contained no ill-will towards these biological differences. Even if it were not the case that a degree of equality had been established between them, humanity was to blame for SEPH having these developmental traits in the first place. Broadly, their complaints focused on the fact that human children might be exposed to a level of sexual awareness (by virtue of sight, airborne pheromones, or otherwise) inappropriate for their age group.

SEPH were sexualized to reproduce with humans. No matter the decades—the centuries that passed, adult humans at this point in time could not help but silently entertain the possibility of a slow degeneration of their ‘just’ and ‘inclusive’ society back towards the status-quo set by their ancestors.

At the time, representatives from the Human-Pokemon Education Coalition (henceforth HPEC. god I’m such a faggot) were left puzzled. The 'non-option' of segregating the children based on species prevented them from taking the easiest route out of their quagmire, but failed to foster any sort of ingenuity or imagination amongst their council. After many a month spent scratching their heads and arguing amongst one another, it was collectively decided that, in the absence of a ‘tool’ with which to solve their problem, changing the definition of the definition of the problem altogether could be considered as an acceptable compromise.

That's right; those niggas went right back to biological modification. Over the course of half a decade, a pair of complementary vaccinations were made mandatory for developing human and SEPH children.

The human vaccine was designed to neuro-chemically suppress sensitivity to SEPH pheromones and mildly increase sensitivity towards human pheromones. If effective, a child would develop with relative indifference towards SEPH of the opposite sex. Attractions would be allowed to form freely, but the 'divide' between them as differing species would be felt more strongly.

The SEPH vaccine was similar. Under its influence, developing SEPH were to produce fewer reproductive pheromones, and would become neurologically predisposed towards reproduction within their own species-groups.

Ultimately, the human vaccine was the more effective between the pair. Several decades after its introduction, human children were reported as viewing SEPH of the opposite sex no differently than their human counterparts. Expected drop-offs were observed through highschool-aged youth and beyond, but these findings fell well within the original ‘success range’ drawn up during the vaccinations’ inception.

For SEPH, the vaccine served the purpose of a chemical ‘nudge’ away from potential danger. Gently urged within their minds to prioritize one another, SEPH females were given another internal pillar atop which to mount devotion towards the reproduction of their species. Their bodies remained horribly sensitive to the scents and touches produced by humans, but their minds became sturdy enough to disregard them when and if they were experienced.

In the present, the effects of these vaccinations can be observed whether a child is vaccinated or not. Though unspoken amongst policy makers in the present, the laziness of the age-old council served as a cornerstone for the current state of adolescent human-SEPH relations.

Presently, children are vaccinated more so for appearances than for any sort of long term benefit. It is merely the norm; something that is done to foster the growth of healthy and happy children.

Biology is not always so clear cut, however.

Were a female SEPH ever to fully revert to their fundamental instincts and produce children with human fathers as a result, the amount of 'vaccination' necessary for these children to develop normally would be obscene.

And if this female SEPH were to knowingly circumvent the vaccination of her children...

Well, shit, that'd be pretty fucked up huh?

-

**THE HOUSEHOLD OF ARTUHR AND KAONA SELVI—MIDDAY**

Well ahead of the schedule set by her school, Aya Selvi returned to the welcoming confines of her home. Still dressed in her uniform yet carrying none of the materials that she had taken with her to school (a small knapsack and a beige cardigan) one could imagine the taller-than-average Kirlia rushing home from her private school as a result of an emergency.

Disquietingly, no signs of such a circumstance could be derived from her presence. Her facial features were devoid of exertion’s sweat; really, they were devoid of life altogether. Her gait was stilted and slow, and the way she progressed through her home was decidedly robotic.

Most importantly, she was not alone.

Following behind her was portly Hypno dressed in the male version of her school's navy-blue uniform. String-secured pendulum in hand, he progressed behind Aya as though it were not the first time he had gained entry into a young woman's home.

It was, of course; the sweat pouring from his features and the darting of his eyes from one corner of the locale to the next indicated this much. This aside, his appearance and body weight assured those laying eyes on him for the first time the 'safe assumption' of his virginity.

Today, this assumption would be shattered forevermore. Ushering Aya further on with his hypnosis, Griggor (with three gs) eventually spotted a logical stopping point for the two of them.

“Huuuuh....huuhhh...” breathing ragged like a nigga fresh from his third waddle to Mcdonalds, he raised his free hand up towards a sizeable, square-shaped opening cut into the wall to his left “How about the living room, Aya? We would be nice and comfy there, right?” he suggested.

“You...huhhh....you don't want to waste time either, do you? You want to get to work serving your flipping sweet master and slurping dick juice out of his balls as quick as possible, right?”

For the sole reason that she had been addressed, Aya responded. First turning to face Griggor, a content smile spread across her lips. To compliment it, her seemingly-dead eyes swiftly readopted the use of a pair of slight pink hearts as their irises.

“Yes, of course! Aya would love nothing more than to be a proper wife for Griggor's gross dick ♥.” Aya replied.

Compelled to convince the Hypno of her enthusiasm, Aya proceeded straight into the living room without further prompting. Seating herself across the rouge sofa at its center, she dropped her right hand across her waist to pat down at the space to her left.

“Please come and sit with me. Aya will do her best to be the perfect meat-toilet for her master...”

With these words alone, Griggor was tempted to forget that Aya's behaviour was the product of hypnotism. No matter how prudent, a third party would be tempted to forgive him for this—sitting atop a couch in a uniform packed to its seams with feminine flesh was the most stunning female Kirlia in his grade year. With breasts larger than her own skull that bounced lightly for each step she took an ass flaunted underneath the dangerously-short cut of her skirt and thighs engorged with pale plush such that looking at them evoked painful longing within males from all walks of life, she represented the ideal 'partner' for any self-respecting psychic type.

But, for as much as she was wanted by others, it was apparent to those closest to her that she herself had eyes for only a single individual.

Denied grounds to even day-dream about the possibility of one day having her, Griggor was one of many males pushed to the brink of insanity by her presence. In this insanity, he eventually devised a plan that might see his love for her realized.

If he were to utilize his hypnotic abilities to hypnotize Aya and afterwards impregnate her, the two of them would HAVE to spend the rest of their lives together. Even if his means was forbidden, no one would question a young male SEPH taking responsibility for a youthful mistake.

By devoting himself to this plan, he had arrived here--steps away from contact with Aya herself. Surging across the living room towards the couch, he took up the seat set out for him and shifted his torso so that his chest as opposite Aya's front. Pressing his hands inwards, her greedily mashed his palms into the uniform-covered meat of her breasts and began groping the flesh he trapped soon afterwards.

Hopelessly aroused by the malleability of her mounds and the disappearance of his fingers into their warm excess, he forgot himself. Maw slackening, he disregarded his own grotesque erection in favor of pushing his drool-laden lips forward for an open-mouthed kiss with Aya's smiling features.

But this was as far as he went.

An instant before his lips could make contact with those of his beloved, the words spoken by a distinctly youthful voice demanded that he bring his ingress to a halt.

_“Suya, Disable. Don’t let him move from that spot until I tell you to.”_

(that’s right you Hypno ass nigga. Not today b. Not today niggaaaaaaaa)

Out though the convenient entranceway bridging the living room and the kitchen stepped Cruz. Decidedly non-plussed for the event he had walked in on, the uniform-clad youth carried a glass of water in hand and the slightest smirk on his face. Behind him, another Kirlia--this one smaller in height, yet proportionally gifted relative to Aya--pattered inward as if glued to his back.

Otherwise, he was the same.

The same placid child that had robbed Griggor--robbed the world of his beloved Aya.

Griggor's mind refused to believe it, but his eyes and ears left him with no other choice. These senses simultaneously suggested that he do away with his classmate before he could threaten his coupling with Aya, but his body refused to cooperate with his demands. In fact, each urge he sent through his frame to move was rebuked by a pain that emanated from the core of his brain.

“You probably shouldn't push it; fighting against it is just going to make it hurt more.” Cruz began.

Incensed, a defiant bark burst from Griggor’s lips.

“W-What the fuck did you do to me?! I swear to god, you’re going to pay for thi--”

Proceeding as though Griggor hadn’t spoken at all, Cruz rudely interrupted the Hypno’s retort with the introduction of an entirely different line of conversation.

“As much as you probably don't want to believe it, your kind were once instrumental to taming Kirlia just like this.” he explained. “Training them once captured was easy, but capturing them and mentally subjugating them was always easier with a Hypno around. Apparently a lot of trainers rewarded their Hypno with the bodies of the weaker Pokemon that they bred, so it's no surprise that you feel the way you do about Aya.”

Progressing right up to the couch with Suya in tow, Cruz turned himself to face the scene of Griggor’s 'almost kiss' with Aya.

Finally, a hint of malice slipped into profile.

“On the surface you think you just want to be with her, but deep down, you think you own her--That you deserve her more than anyone else. That she'd be better off producing your children than being who she is now.” he suggested.

These words tempted Griggor to attempt moving again.

His reward for this was further pain and the eruption of blood from his nose.

“And what if I do?!” he grunted. “Even if I'm wrong, a human like you has no right to judge what I do! You'd never understand what it's like for the women you're supposed to love and cherish to not even know you exist!”

Confusion briefly muddled Cruz's features, but just as soon as it appeared, amusement blotted it from his features entirely.

“Maybe so. I do know for a fact that SEPH males don't have it very easy...” he replied.

“T-Then...?”

“It's too bad I don't care, though.” timing his utterance to shatter his schoolmate's hopeful reprisal, Cruz's earlier placidity returned in full force. “I might've let you have your fun had you picked someone else, but I'm kind of responsible for these two at this point. As a human, it'd be pretty bad if I let one of the prime IV sows under my care have her genetics wasted by someone like you.” he explained.

“You could almost call it criminally negligent. I mean, just look at her...”

Turning attention toward Aya, Cruz pointed at the fresh trail of blood streaming from under her nose, then the marked emptiness within her eyes.

“Another few minutes and she would've overpowered you. Hypnosis is supposed to be your 'thing', no?”

(OH OH FUCK. OH FUCK NIGGA. GET SERVED)

Expectedly, fury erupted within Griggor at this realization. Contractions induced throughout his frozen musculature in hopes of assaulting the boy ahead of him wracked his body with pain, but in the moment, he couldn't have cared less.

His sole desire was retribution against Cruz. It would be until he perished.

Knowing that such retribution was not within his ability, Cruz shrugged, then stepped backwards to rid himself of the event entirely.

“Oh well. You won't remember any of this anyway, so I guess making fun of you is kind of pointless. Suya?”

Prompting the Kirlia behind him, she stepped forward to assume the position he had initially stood in.

“Hypnosis, then Dream Eater. I know you're sleepy, but you're only allowed to eat whatever dreams he has about today and his plan. I'll make it up to you later.”

Resisting the stimulating recoil from her ability activation, Suya smiled, nodded, then went about performing her moves before blood could renew its staining of her face.

As she worked, Cruz watched.

For his own good, he trained his eyes on the hate concentrated into Griggor’s expression as his eyes fluttered towards closure.

In all likelihood, inoculating himself to such unbridled venom would serve him well in the future…

-

**BUILDING A TEAM OF POKEMON 101**

The aftermath of Griggor's memory restructuring and his forceful ejection from the Selvi household proceeded more or less in line with what Cruz had expected.

Upon his return from dragging the Hypno's unconscious frame out onto a stretch of sidewalk several feet away from the house, a conscious Aya met him with an aggressive display of affection. Equal parts smarted by her failure, thankful for his efforts, and painfully aroused, the embrace that she imposed lasted long enough for Cruz to consider ordering her off of him.

Trained far better than her actions often implied, Aya curtailed her affection to ensure that no such order would be required. Having retained all of her memories from the moment she was hypnotized to the present, she broke away from Cruz once she was certain that the 'scent' rubbed into her flesh was no longer that of Griggor's. This done, she briefly departed from the living room to do what she described as “changing her clothes”.

In this time, Suya stated her desired recompense for so dutifully “skipping” elementary school at Cruz's request. As her doing so was actually detrimental to any sort of gain on her part--or so the little girl stated--her terms were set at “kissing, as much stimulation as could be reasonably provided, and an excuse to continue skipping school to acquire these things”.

Though younger than her sister, Suya carried the same--if not an even stronger dependence on contact with his frame. Whether this was as a result of her inheriting her mother's disposition or the fact that she was a child of a SEPH and a human was beyond Cruz’s ability to discern.

Regardless of the truth, Cruz obliged. The mildness of Suya's disposition was easily disrupted by tantrums where rewards were concerned, and to begin with, she was far too intelligent for short-changing her to be an option.

As a result of his choice, the living-room that Aya returned to vastly differed from the one that she had departed from. Clad--if the definition of _clad_ could be reduced to coverIing by narrow strings and patches of fabric--in a jet-black micro-bikini pushed to its structural limitations by her unrestricted bust and hip-structure, she could only watch in mild disbelief as a back-spread Cruz was hungrily kissed by her baby sister.

Not quite so immature as to squeak 'No fair!' and stomp one of her feet at the display, Aya chose to focus on the positives of her situation after coming to terms with it.

Suya was too young to begin using her holes properly--a fact that limited her to activities like kissing where contact with Cruz was concerned.

Unlike her younger sister, Aya had developed. Though not yet fully evolved, her reproductive capacity and sexual ability rivalled her mother's in quality. This meant that no matter the direction her mid-day situation turned, none could stand in the way of her serving her purpose and repaying Cruz for valuing her body as an object.

Placing this reality at the center of her mind's eye redoubled her excitement.

Just as planned, she set herself into a hip-swaying stride towards Cruz, and upon arrival at the couch hurriedly dispossessed the boy of his uniform slacks and underwear. Curtailing the longing stare she so often directed at his cock to half its usual duration, she shamelessly dumped her face into the unwashed organ to renew the spread of its scent up into her brain.

Snorting, huffing, and nuzzling until the numbing, sperm-scented musk that soaked his organ warmed her innards like a narcotic, she afterwards purposed the sensation as motivation for her 'true' task:

Milking Cruz's sperm cells straight into her womb...

-

**SISTER MANAGEMENT**

Whilst both pairs of Suya's lips sat thoroughly enamoured with a writhing invader (three in the case of her drooling cunt lips), the lips of her inner voice could be found engaged in a lively telekinetic conversation with her sister and father.

“...Overall, isn't this just more proof that you should put babies inside me too, Daddy?” cutting her previous chain of thought short to broach the intended 'point' of her utterance, Suya projected a thought into the 'pool' established between herself and her sister. ”Aya almost ended up like Mommy. She would've gotten turned into a cummy(?) dump by some loser and would've had to give birth to kids who basically don't matter. Mommy's an exception because you helped her in the end; Aya's just silly.”

As usual, Suya's thoughts were calm and logical; a far cry from the starved aggression that she used to set the pace of her kiss with Cruz.

Having yet to hit her second growth spurt, her standing height set her skull only a few inches above Cruz's head whilst laid down on the couch. Thus, after dropping her lips into contact with his and inviting his tongue into its current, spittle-drenched writhe within her mouth, the weight of her upper body was comfortably supported between her breasts and Cruz's face.

This support was essential. Shortly after the establishment of her kiss, Suya forcibly established herself as a participant--and not a recipient--in their lip-locking. Owning the smaller mouth and tongue between them, she took to the occasional suckle of Cruz's tongue when not caressing its exterior with the slightest twist or flick of her own. Where possible, she attempted to squeeze down on the the meat of his tongue with the back of her throat as if intending to swallow it. She also kept her hands busy. Though small and slight, the ambiguously-fingerless pads were perfect for cupping her father's cheeks.

There had been no impetus behind the effort that she put forth. She believed kissing like this to be the only type of kissing worthwhile for herself and her father, and had practised no other form of the act since initially acquiring a taste for it. Even if one were to discount her enjoying the activity as an explanation, these two reasons persisted in the back of her head ready and waiting to be drawn upon.

Of course, Suya was in no mood to convince anyone. Satiated by her father's lips and the fingers goring the mound hidden underneath the crotch of her slime-drenched panties, the only activities that she had energy for pertained to teasing her sister and convincing her father to spoil her more.

Well acquainted with the impressive depth of her little sister's capabilities, Aya matched her participation and conversation.

“...You can say whatever you want now right now, Suya. I've already decided not to care about what my stupid little sister thinks about me until I actually have to start sharing Cruz with her.” Aya replied smoothly. “There's a reason that I'm where I am and you're where you are. When you're dealing with what I'm dealing with, I'd like to see what a pouty little brat like you does when she has to deal with HYPNOSIS!”

Just like Suya, Aya's voice sounded as it usually did despite her frame being taken up with a rather vigorous physical activity. As well, the mental utterances she produced were consistent--if one heard them without laying eyes on her body, the facial expressions and gestures of an older sister attempting to appear 'older' in front of her younger sister would be easy enough to infer from their quality.

Likely as a result of Suya's imagining one such gesture, she produced a retort before her sister even finished speaking.

“I'd be fine. Unlike you and Mommy, I probably won't grow up with massive cow-udders. That's mainly why boys pester you so much. Plus you smell just as bad as Mommy.”

Suddenly, keeping their conversation non-verbal became too tall of an ask for Aya. Donning a scowl and shooting it up at Suya, more cutting thoughts streamed from her mind in time with a sudden exacerbation of the 'entirely-unselfish-thank you-gift' she was performing for Cruz.

“You're going to stink just as bad, you know. We both share Mom's genetics. If anything, you might even end up with even fatter tits...assuming you actually start growing at some point.” teasing the youth and reminding her of reality in the same breath, this utterance was followed by one much more antagonistic in tone. “You've got part of Cruz in you, but like I said, you're not ready to make the most of it. Kissing and sucking isn't good enough; if you're not sturdy enough to be a proper bitch and train your holes to drain his dick, you're just flat out not good enough.”

“That's not just what I think, either...” turning her scowl into a sneer, Aya sharpened her investment in the swirling of her hips and the bouncing of her rear. “That's what reality for all SEPH is....or what it should be, anyway. Right, Cruz? If you’re not useful, you’re easily disposable.”

Even if Aya had chosen not to turn to Cruz for validation, the 'gift' that she continued to provide him with argued effectively for her points.

Since her stride up to the couch and her crawl up to an intimate straddle of the younger human's crotch, Aya had manipulated her body in a way that her sister was not yet able to. After saturating her brain with his narcotic cock-stink and stroking his member into the curved, gut-rending, nauseatingly-lengthy cudgel that so often churned her folds, she expertly ascended from her seat atop his thighs up to a tempting hover above the imposing erection. Holding the ample weight of her frame up on the smooth tips of her feet whilst poising the tip of Cruz's menacing meat-spire just beneath the pudgy, panty-hugged mound at her crotch, she ended the thigh-accentuating squat she had assumed with a fearless dumping of her rear down into contact with Cruz's crotch. Bikini-crotch displaced and cuntlips naturally skewered in the process, she hungrily wiggled her hips throughout the descent to ensure that every chubby, blood-steeled vein coiled around the palm-width log was strenuously pressed through the ever-ready tightness of her cunt.

In this she did not falter. Accustomed to far more brutish insertions managed by Cruz himself, the seconds-long process of messily spreading her inner walls with cockmeat and finally goring her cervix with a helmet of glans flesh ended without much more than a quiet “Mmmmgh... ♥” from her lips.

Of course, though this was true of the lips on her face, the same could not be said of the plump and pinkened set between her thighs. Right from their initial piercing straight up to the satisfying 'psuedo-hilt' that choked her vaginal canal and depressed her cervix towards her womb, intermittent splatters of sexual lubricant spewed out from her folds created an illusion of persifilage for her cuntlips. Constantly responsible for the sound of steaming syrup splattering out in decent volumes against crotch and thigh flesh alike, the final *PLOP!* that sounded out when the fat-infused dough packed into her buttocks collided with Cruz's thighs was nearly forgettable in comparison.

Whilst Suya busied herself with the construction of a 'pattern' for her kissing with Cruz, Aya busied herself with making certain that her gift was memorable. First clasping her hands against the fringes of his middle abdominals for support, she subsequently spread her arousal-moistened thighs away from each other in mimicry of a mid-angled 'V'. Then, as though doing so carried no consequence at all, she engaged her hips and thigh musculature in an aggressive upward wrench of her slobbering cunt along the length of Cruz's cock. Stopping halfway up the uterus-warming tower, she refused to linger for even a moment before dropping herself back along the path that she had followed and ruthlessly skewering Cruz's length back through to its filling, cervix-tenting hilt within her.

*PLATCH♥* went the meat of her rear following its jiggle inducing impact with Cruz's crotch and *GLRUP* went her folds as they were happily reintroduced with the vein-studded loaf of cockmeat that they so adored.

Not surprisingly, these noises were afterwards reproduced by Aya's actions at a pace both startling and somehow enviable. Every bit her mother's daughter, Aya senselessly bounced herself up and down along the majority of Cruz's cock with no regard for the integrity of her squirting innards or the current 'limits' of her physical fitness. Concerned only with using the congested pipe of cuntmeat settled within her as a sputtering onahole for Cruz's member, she went as far as throwing the succulent weight of her lower body backwards alongside each dump that she completed.

As intended, the end result of her efforts was a thrusting pattern that only a shortstack endowed as she was could hope to manage. Vicious, thudding slams of her rear and crotch that should have left her frame trembling and squirting in the face of their depth and impact were managed by her with the ease of a paid performer in the midst of a practised routine.

She even had the time to enjoy herself--or so one might infer from the occasional peak of her tongue at the corners of her lips and the lustful smirk that defined her reddened facial features.

Though her mood was eventually soured by her conversation with Suya, the basic 'form' established by her cervix-bruising efforts was held throughout. This was something that she believed to be absolutely necessary. The day that Cruz might splatter her eggs with his seed was growing closer, so the more automatic efficiency she could foster within herself was the better the odds that her sister and mother would become obsolete with regards to milking his cock.

Unbeknownst to Aya, the youth that she hoped to convince was not so easily awed by the functionality of an high grade, sort-of-adolescent SEPH.

While at the centre of the argument shared between the sisters and the activities that they invested themselves in, Cruz carried himself with most of his usual poise. As the conversation between Aya and Suya did not directly concern him, he allowed the two of them to nip at one another as sisters whilst entertaining himself with the opportunities provided to him.

The most simplistic of these was access to Suya's 'juvenile' cunt. Per her request for adult stimulation, Cruz had spent the time that had elapsed between the beginning of their kiss and the present sheathing and stirring three fingers from his right hand within the humid depths of her womanhood. Purposing his index, middle, and ring fingers in particular, he fashioned a flexible 'scoop' long enough to traverse the lengths of her womanhood and thick enough to stress her inner walls into expansion.

The occasional engagement of his wrist saw to the depression of these conjoined fingers down to their knuckles, or the extrication of their slogged extents to their tips. Naturally, whether flicked inwards or outwards, the digits themselves served as a pleasant 'test' for the soon-to-be used confines of Suya's folds. Her female innards already maintained more than enough elasticity and lubrication to derive pleasure from the digits' plunging, but the speed at which Cruz manipulated them stressed her tolerance for stimulation by way of the sole pleasure source she had yet to endure: consistent penetration.

Cruz did not give the younger Kirlia a half-effort, either. As much invested in her development as she was herself, he often spread his fingers away from one another and rotated them within their sockets to grind flesh-wrapped bone against differing stretches of her gummy canal. As much as possible, these rotations were executed separately as well. For example, if his index and ring fingers were invested in an outward push against the left and right sides of her canal (and a compression of a finger-tip sized pocket of cuntmeat underneath thier tips as a result), his middle finger could be found grinding its underside against her cunt's ceiling.

Via Cruz's efforts and Suya's impressive sensitivity, the short duration of their kiss had utterly drenched the soft-pink cotton of her panties with cunt-syrup whilst also reducing Suya's standing position by the couch to a pigeon-toed tremble.

As mentioned previously, part of Cruz's motivation for busying himself in this way was related to Suya's benefit. She called her treatment a reward, but Cruz had long since recognized her desire to enjoy the things that her mother and sister did. If the clenching and drooling of her folds continued to develop as they were presently, she'd have her wish sooner rather than later.

The other force driving his actions was vested in Aya's shameless violation of her own cunt. Between the pleasure pressed along his member per bounce that she produced and the invigorating visuals that accompanied it, no 'room' remained within proceedings for him to inject himself.

This was to say that, though manageable, the proficiency with which Aya utilized her frame as an object for his pleasure was significant.

Or perhaps 'significant' was the wrong word. Aya's minutes spent rising and falling along the girth of his cock had long since fucked her cervix into an affectionate suckling device for the middle inches of his length. What purpose the ring presently served amongst her reproductive organs was a second pair of cock-suckling lips for Cruz's member. If necessary, its functionality as the 'stopper' for the sweltering fertility of her womb could be restored at a moment’s notice. However, had it a 'self' capable of forming an opinion and a mouth with which to utter it, the puffy flesh ring would undoubtedly profess that its state as gaped and spread around Cruz's cock was more ideal.

Putting aside that sort of related tangent, the loosening of Aya's cervix served up the confines of her uterus to Cruz's cockflesh. It went without saying that the vacant baby-sac was quite happy to play the part of a convulsing punching bag for Cruz's erection--since the completion of its development, this state was one of two that it understood.

In playing this part, the majority of Aya's abdominals were subjected to repeated and garish distension. She was a shortstack after all. By tirelessly splitting her folds with a cock that represented a healthy fraction of her height, curved bulges of mildly-bruised stomach flesh and the jutting of womb-wrapped cockmeat into the underside of her stomach was to be expected.

Expected, and in this case, impressive. In every suffocating grind of her folds up the length of his member and every invasive smash of his meat through their meaty grasp into her womb, Aya maintained control. Though very clearly elated with her position, the once-forbidden goring of her womanhood (and it's reduction of her body cavity to the state of a cocksleeve) had not yet destroyed her mind.

She had grown. Not quite at the blinding pace her mother had sprouted at, but quickly enough to be 'impressive' based on Cruz's knowledge of SEPH development. Already, the boy was forced to begin entertaining thoughts as to whether or not this would be the day he'd actually impregnate her.

Thankfully, he had grown as well.

“I guess I underestimated how long the two of them would stay so vulnerable.” he thought to himself. “This is definitely going to get harder in the future, but I can worry about that then. Before that, it's more important that I keep raising them correctly. It’s not like anyone else is going to do it”

“That thing...the POKEDEX goes on and on about how important it is to combine affirmation with actual training. It took a lot more effort for any of it to make a difference with Kaona, so I can only assume that it's more effective with these two because of their upbringing...

Well, whatever. It's no excuse to get lazy. Until they actually finish developing, I'll just have to keep making the process as enjoyable for them as possible...”

Finally, Cruz's thoughts led him to make use of the floor that Aya had allotted to him with her suggestion. Forgoing the thought channel shared between the three of them, Cruz pulled his lips away from Suya's and straightened the angling of his skull so that both girls' faces sat within his field of view.

As 'unhindered' as both girls had been within their minds, he spoke.

“...Aya's essentially right, Suya. Growth is the probably the most important thing for a SEPH, and you can't really expect to serve any kind of purpose if you stay so small.” he explained.

“That said...”

Prepared in advance for the troubled expression that stretched across Suya's features, Cruz acted to rectify it almost immediately. Reaching up with his dominant hand, he casually took hold of the back of Aya's skull. Wrenching her downwards without disrupting the pony-tailed arrangement of her hair substance, he intentionally flattened her nostrils against the the bare flesh of her chest.

All at once, the whorish expertise and experience displayed in Aya’s actions vanished. Denied the continuation of her bouncing metronome, she was instead drawn into a reflexive huffing at the mild scent that emanated from Cruz's flesh.

Just this amount of musk squeezed an orgasm through her uterus and vaginal canal, and slackened her lips into an appreciative drool. A human would have denied that there was any stench at all mapped to Cruz's frame, yet her inborn sensitivity to Cruz's scent—to all human male scents—effectively crippled her when faced with an excess of it....

For the most part, of course.

“C-Ch'uzzz s-stooophhhh ♥” Aya cooed. “Y-you're makin' me look sh'illy in fron'a Suya~. Y-You're smell's sh'o nice it's m-makin' me stupid ♥.”

Aya did her best to select words that would clearly convey her protest against the boy's decision. In devoting herself to this task, she failed to recognize that protesting any at all was pointless. If not through the convulsing of her cunt, the smile on her face, or the tone of voice in which she spoke, her contentment with her position could be seen in her refusal to struggle against it.

Holding the continuation of his address on the tip of his tongue until Aya's mewling degenerated into utter incoherence, Cruz used this as an opportunity to slant his gaze towards Suya.

“Developing doesn't make you invincible. No matter how big you get, you'll always have something that you can work on. For example, your sister is becoming very good at using her body's instincts to help her perform as a better jizz socket. As you can see, though, her sense of smell is still too strong for her own good.”

Content to display that she was following along, Suya internalized the comfort evoked by this explanation and merely nodded in understanding.

Being understood was Cruz's only aim in the gesture.

“You won't know what your limitations are until you can test your boundaries. You're not quite there yet, so there's nothing wrong with focusing on the things that you know how to do for now. That's what I think a good girl would do, anyway.”

Point stated, Cruz released the back of Aya's skull and allowed her to filter her breathing as she pleased. Nearly a minute passed before she opted to do this, but this in itself was an improvement on the past. As a child, it was not uncommon for her to require a forceful separation from his frame to regain control of herself.

Once returned to her wobbly squat atop Cruz's crotch, her first (and only) thought pertained to righting the 'injustice' she had endured at the hand of her better.

Pouting drowsily, words eerily indicative of mental regression slipped from her lips in sequence.

“Cruuuuuuz.... Where's my advice? You didn't say I was a better dickpig than Mom or anything...” she complained. “Did you not like it? S-Should I have gone faster, or w-was it 'cause I couldn't make you dump your baby juice inside of me?”

The last of Aya's sentences was not so much spoken as it was sullenly mumbled. Not unlike a child seeking affirmation, she peered up at Cruz after her whinging in search of her next steps forward.

  
  


Smiling, Cruz shook his head.

“I didn't say it was bad, did I?” he started.

“N-No, but you didn't tell me how to be better. I'm just a stupid SEPH; I can't be the kind of partner you'd need without you teaching me...” Aya lamented.

At this, Suya chimed in as well.

“Me too.” placid as ever, Suya inched her facial features further in towards Cruz's face. “I don't wanna just be a good girl—I want to be a reliable SEPH bitch like Mommy. I may be small and not developed or whatever, but if this were the past, that wouldn’t matter. If I couldn’t make myself useful as is, I’d be violated like a useless sow piglet I am and thrown away to be fuel for someone like that Hypno…”

Shifting her features away from neutrality and towards resolution, Suya shook her head.

“I wouldn’t want that—I **don’t** want that. I want to be the kind of stupid Seph meat that you need, Cruz. If that means I can’t grow up to be anything else, that’s fine. Being more than that is for delusional losers anyway.”

For once, Cruz was moved to silence. Faced with a coherent rebuttal from both of the girls, all thoughts of ‘ease’ and ‘commendation’ slipped from the boy’s mind.

Suddenly, how best to stimulate their growth and assess their progress was all that he could think about.

They grow up so fast—or so the saying goes.

  
-

**FORGOTTEN CHILDHOOD**

Of their own volition, both Aya and Suya abandoned their individual ‘pleasuring’ of Cruz’s body to take up a joint task of the boy’s own making. As there was hardly enough time (and far too much risk) associated with tasking them separately, this compromise represented Cruz’s best attempt at meeting both of their desires at the same time.

Fiercely competitive in their very natures, the sisters recognized that working with one another would be far more difficult than working separately. Wishing to would not be enough; the object of their desires would have to force them into compliance if they were to succeed.

To this end, Aya suggested that “PLAY NICE” be imposed on the two of them prior to beginning. Suya seconded the motion on the grounds of training for their respective purposes being more important than their egos.

For the moment, anyway.

Thus, the pair took their first step towards Cruz’s task in perfect sequence with one another. Sporting bodies freshly overwhelmed by stimulation and faces cutely decorated by lone strands of blood, they applied themselves not as competitors, but as sisters lovingly devoted to the same goal…

-

With Suya standing upright behind a kneeling and bra-less Aya, the conjoined 'task' set out for the pair began in earnest. Neither sister acting as though the other wasn't present, the pair played off of one another in the introduction of their first cooperative effor yet.

“Thank you for deciding to get off with both of your SEPH holes, Cruz. Please don't hesitate to shut down our minds and use us as actual fleshlights if we fail to satisfy you ♥.” Aya began. “This time, I will be the one who begins for us. Suya will follow behind me, but as I said, do not hesitate to remind these stupid bitches that you can splatter your rancid nut inside them however you see fit….~”

Without a moment's delay, Aya applied herself. Raising both of her hands away from her sides, she pressed the fingerless limbs into contact with the buoyant plush of her breasts' outer sides. Expertly peeling the bloated meat sacs out of contact with one another, she afterwards leaned forward to push their sweat-coated inner sides inward towards Cruz's twitching, cunt-greased erection. Silently, she pushed both mounds back towards one another once the menacing girth of Cruz's shaft was surrounded on all sides by the hormone-fed teardrops' flesh. Utterly and appropriately consumed, its balmy exterior was enveloped within tit-meat from its root right up to enflamed helmet at its tip.

Visually speaking, the act did not seem difficult for Aya. The size of her body typically made swallowing Cruz's member into any of her holes an activity that required a great deal of selfless perseverance (or debased sexual greed). However, where her breasts were concerned, both of the perky mounds maintained a life-affirming swell--a compositionally ideal obesity perfect for the encapsulation of oversized erections. Consequently, the only real difficulty associated with sandwiching her owner's unruly spire between them and smushing their flesh inward so as to trap it concerned its heat and texture.

Like the still-leaking mound of flesh between her legs, Aya's breasts were especially sensitive to the heat exuded by Cruz's cock and the wriggling convulsions put off by its veins. Though vastly different from the gaping of her cunt and uterus, her mind perceived the disappearance of his shaft between her breasts as another form of penetration that only Cruz's reeking tower of flesh could impose upon her.

Presently, though, her perception of the act was irrelevant.

At least she believed it to be.

Refusing to waste so much as a second following to envelopment of Cruz's member, Aya pressed her mound-set palms deeper into the sides of her breasts. At the same time, she invested psychic energy into compressing a wider breadth of her breasts outer-sides in against Cruz’s member. Convinced by the smothering of its veins into the doughy meat of her breasts that an orifice had been contrived between them, she subsequently took to drawing both of the impossibly-heavy mounds up and down the full length of his shaft.

First smothering their fat downwards towards his crotch and cock root, she afterwards kneaded their meat far enough upwards to submerge his leaking glans into her tit-pussy's embrace. With this, she focused her efforts on a slow and steady see-sawing of her mounds between these states.

Gifted with more than enough flesh to keep Cruz's shaft pleasantly suffocated between her mounds all throughout, the ascent and descent of her breasts was not focused on ensuring that the entirety of his cock was allowed to taste the sweaty, compressed interior of her contrived orifice. Instead, Aya's motions focused on drilling the pressure applied between her hands and psychokinesis as deep into Cruz's trapped shaft as was possible. With mammary flesh serving as the 'conduit' through which this pressure was imposed, the rise and fall of Aya's bust soon began to impose a sensation eerily comparable to the contractions and convulsions of a cock-starved female orifice onto Cruz’s cock.

All of this, and Aya was only getting started. Shortly after settling herself into these ministrations, Aya turned her gaze up towards Cruz to address the youth as a proper flesh-toilet ought.

“I hope fucking my tit-pussy feels good for you, Cruz. I almost have squishier sow meat on my chest than Mom, and I know for a fact mine is still softer ♥.” she began, tone sly and haughty. “I can make it feel tighter, too. If you wanted, I could even stop moving and let you fuck them like a proper cunt. You could spew out lots and lots of baby juice between them or cake my fucking face in it before you're done ♥.”

As if amused by her own suggestion, a short giggle escaped the Kirlia's smile-curved lips.

“It's all just meat grafted to the body of a stupid feral bitch. That means it's yours to fuck and squeeze until I have to use them to feed the babies you squirt into my ovaries.” she added. “That goes for the rest of me, too. My entire fucking body is just a fat jizz toilet for Cruz's human cock.”

“I'm gonna prove i--MLRPP!?”

Having become noticeably enamoured with defining herself in the midst of squishing and grinding her breasts against Cruz's cock, Aya had very nearly forgotten that she wasn't alone.

Abruptly, a hand was curled into contact with her face from behind. Though lacking fingers, this hand successfully isolated the flesh just above her nostrils underneath its palm, and afterwards pulled this flesh upwards to further expose her prized scent pores to the sexual stenches that dominated her airspace.

This done, another hand pressed Aya's skull downward. Lips and nostrils suddenly delivered into an impromptu kiss with the sex-scented, precum glazed tip of Cruz's glans, Aya had no time to brace herself for what the happening entailed.

All at once, further conscious thought was denied entry into her mind. Flooded into the space that they had once occupied were the musings of a feral slut starved for her mate’s scent and taste.

These instincts urged Aya to part her lips and engulf the beginnings of Cruz's glans into her mouth. Snorting sharply as she did so, a shrilly euphoric groan exploded from the back of her throat the moment its entirely was popped into the saliva-inundated confines of her mouth.

Subsequently, Aya's efforts kicked into overdrive. Bobbing her skull upward and downward within the bounds set by the hand on the back of her skull, she viciously suckled and lapped to the tip of Cruz's unwashed member whilst simultaneously allowing copious amounts of drool and mucus to drain out overtop of it. In the midst of this bobbing, the pressure that her hands forced against her breasts increased twofold, and the pace with which they were mushed along Cruz's shaft became sharp and masturbatory.

Shortly, at a price no more costly than her ability to produce coherent thoughts, the effectiveness with which Aya wielded her frame had increased.

These successes she owed to her little sister and the primary effects of PLAY NICE. Firmly in-sync with her older sister's behaviour, Suya recognized an ideal opportunity for the two of them to make further progress towards their shared goal. Freed from her usual possessive greed, she did not hesitate to violate her sister's mind with Cruz's musk and enhance her milking of his member beyond its usual typical ceiling of effectiveness.

At present, the two of them were one in the same: unseeded egg-factories for a human that valued their existences enough to use them as cum-dumpsters. Thus, Aya's gains were her gains...in a manner of speaking.

This aside, Suya did not yet have a reason to feel any sort of longing.

Her turn would come soon, after all.

“Sorry, Cruz. Aya only talks so much because she wants to make sure you don't forget what she really thinks and feels.” Suya began, hands motionless in their domineering manipulation of Aya's skull. “I understand that now that we're thinking together. Around Arthur, at school; she has to pretend a lot. Pretend that she more than a snorting pig who wants to have her stomach fucked into a bloated cock juice container, I mean. She doesn't mind doing it, but she prefers this.”

“She'll always prefer this.”

Briefly, Suya ceased speaking to peek further into her sisters thoughts and observe what technique remained within her slovenly efforts. Truthfully, her intent was more so geared towards the second activity--the more Aya snorted and slurped to the tip of Cruz's cock was the less meaningful her thoughts became.

Still, what she could make out made for an interesting addition to the furious squelching and clopping induced by the perpetual motions of her breasts.

“Cockjuice ♥ Cock juice ♥ Cock juice ♥. Cruz's cock juice is gonna rape my brain ♥! I wanna drink it~! I wanna chug stinking chunks until my tuummy looks pregnant!”

Suya was not the type to protest against thoughts like this--less so in her current state. In the moment, though, she felt that her sister’s desires were very reasonable. The heady *PLOP-PLOP-PLOP* that sounded out as her breasts collided with Cruz's crotch was the same sort of noise induced by her cunt's penetration. As well, the *plrtpt!* repeatedly produced by her breasts as they smeared the throatslop caking their inner surfaces to his cock was very similar to the sputtering of her cunt, throat, or asshole.

Overall, even if Aya were not an organism designed for dependence and addicted to the pungent stench of virile human semen, it could be said that her environment was one primed to make a female want to be filled with seed.

Tragically, this was not her role.

Content with the amount of time that had passed, Suya spoke.

“Aya. PASS.”

These words struck Aya like a bolt of lightning. Halted at the peak of her semen-starved efforts, her eyes casually re-assumed the glossy control that presently shone within Suya's.

With this, she retreated. First releasing both of her breasts and dispelling the mental pressure that had helped hold them in place, she subsequently popped her spittle-smeared lips from off of the bulk of his glans to the tune of a gooey *PLURP*.

A semblance of her 'self' returned after the fact. Now smiling, she moved herself off to the left of Cruz's crotch to allow her younger sister to assume her original position. Paying no mind to the pubic hair left pasted to the corners of her lips and the crown of her bust throughout, one could safely assess her actions as being very 'Aya-like' in spite of their efficiency.

If underused, PLAY NICE was quite the move. It’s no Stealth Rock, but competitive Pokemon battling is fucking gay anyway.

Now standing with her lips at perfect parity with the nose of Cruz's erection, Suya spoke.

“Now's it's my turn, Cruz. I'm a little worse than Aya, but I want to show you what I can do, too.” she stated firmly. “Please enjoy my mouth-pussy as much as you want ♥.”

Just as had been the case with Aya, Suya acted smoothly to back her own claims. Tiny hands extending outwards, she set her spoon-like palms atop Cruz's hands to create a grafting point for her psychic energy. Gluing his limbs to her own, she drew her hands backwards and upwards before dropping his square atop her skull.

Contrary to the implications of her words, she did not expect to be taken care of from this point onward. Cognizant now more so than ever of the need to **make herself** useful as opposed to simply **being** useful, Aya parted her lips. Then, faced with a cock that represented a grizzly 30% of her height, she stabbed her skull inwards to plug up the sink hole of congealed pink between her lips with a cock on the verge of orgasm...

-

LIKE MOTHER LIKE SISTER LIKE DAUGHTER

The role that Cruz had selected for himself in Aya and Suya's training exercise was initially of no real consequence. Both girls had expressed a desire to embrace themselves and work towards improving their capabilities as SEPH, so forcing them to complement one another and defining the terms of their 'success' was all that he had to do.

Suya's decision to offer up her throat wasn't something he had planned for. It took the youth until after the balmy meat of her gullet was spread out around the girth of his glans for him to actually accept that she was prepared for what oral sex actually entailed. By this point, it was too late; per the standards set by the exercise, consideration for her well-being was the only grounds on which he could argue against greedily plunging himself in and out of her skull until he released.

Not only was he without such compassion, but he had long since recognized that 'babying' was not what Suya was looking for. Knowing precisely what the stench that emanated from his crotch would do to her brain (much less what the girth of his cock would do to the budding pleasure receptors within her throat), Suya drove her lips across his throbbing member inch by inch until her face sat smothered against the mired exterior of his crotch. Wilfully ignoring the stimulation that undoubtedly assaulted her brain throughout (or so he assumed), she even succeeded in keeping her facial expression 'positive' whilst a fresh bleed began bubbling out of her crotch-plugged nostrils.

Seeing such dedication made it impossible for Cruz to do anything that didn't pertain to sliding his fingers around the back of her skull and railing the knot-tight sleeve of esophagus flesh spread around the his shaft.

If the girls were to continue trusting him (and their biology) in the future, this much was a given.

Thusly, Cruz spared her nothing. Fighting against the convulsing grasp of her mouth cunt's narrow interior, he took to a ruthless pattern of 'drawing' and 'hilting' that spiked and slapped Suya's face off his crotch with the most minimal gap between impacts as possible.

To do this, he forced his mind and musculature to regard her entire skull as a fleshlight. First wrenching the Kirilia's gullet back up to the tip of his length, he followed this up with a sound *GLRRK*-inducing depression of her skull that disregarded the virginal tightness of her esophagus' interior. What little reflexive resistance her tiny frame mustered was overwhelmed by the consistent contraction of his forearms and biceps, and the 'rejection' staged by her esophagus--an attempted coil of mucus-lined tract flesh around his erection's monstrous exterior--was overturned by a prolonged downward press of her skull following the disappearance of his cock.

A single completed cycle between these two ministrations was all that Cruz needed to feel comfortable repeating it. Just as soon as Suya's face was rudely stamped back down against his crotch, his hands punched her skull through another ascent along his member, and then through another stomach-teasing depression through to its hilt. Within seconds, Suya's head was drawn from a stationary hover ahead of his member to a perpetual slide back and forth along the space that it took up.

Try as she might to imitate her sister's control throughout the event, Suya was utterly overwhelmed by the pace that Cruz set. Happily so, but not enough so to overcome her body's rejection of its own brutalization. Whilst the sensation of penetration was burned into her brain thrust by agonizing thrust, concentrated bursts of reformative musk was smothered against her nostrils almost as frequently as she could draw air into her lungs.

This was nothing like the practice she had put herself through. Her 'mouth-cunt' had not yet betrayed her and was presently performing as an at-least-passable hole for Cruz's cock, but everything else about the experience was entirely new to her.

For a SEPH, the 'newness' in question was absolutely crippling. The potency of the musk in the midst of altering her neurochemical makeup compiled with the bloating of her esophagus and the all-at-once activation of its pleasure receptors contorted her body against her will. Vigorous splatters of sexual lubricant erupted from between her covered lower lips for every few instances that the thinned meat of her esophagus was spread around Cruz’s member. Though useless, her lower body wiggled back and forth in search of retreat from the over-stimulation that plagued her brain, and her hands pushed down against Cruz's crotch in hopes that the pressure they imposed might convince him to slow down. And, despite the blanket of bestial fulfilment draped across the euphoria within her mind, her face displayed hints of fear and distress.

At least it did when her features were not squished into the throat-slop caked to Cruz's crotch.

Through and through, she had taken on too much too fast. If the blood still flowing from her nostril was any indication, the consequences of her over-eagerness would be significant.

How much so was up to Aya. Like Suya, Aya had spent the entirety of her sister's facial reaming playing the part of 'compliment'. Suya's thoughts were her own, and the condition of her body was an open book to be read when and if her circumstance required it to be.

As Suya herself had not yet entertained thoughts of giving up (likely on account of hardly being able to think at all), Aya stalwartly observed proceedings from her side as they escalated towards new obscenes.

This was not to say that she did so lifelessly. Having been raised alongside Cruz, she could not help but feel nostalgic watching her little sister attempt what she had so many times in her 'youth'.

“Can you believe she's actually trying this hard, Cruz? I guess I'm going to have to take back some of those things I said about her being too small.” Aya started, an impressed wistfulness to her voice. “She's mostly just screaming inside her head, but it isn't, like, a _bad_ scream or anything. She just really, really can't handle getting used like a proper fleshtoilet just yet.” she added, giggling.

“On the one hand, all of the cells in her brain want you to keep gutting her squeaky-little throatcunt until you don't have a drop of nut left to get rid of. At the same time, they're also begging you to stop so that they don't fry from all of the pleasure you're fucking into her...”

Strangely, uttering this ushered an acceptant sigh out of the older Kirlia's chest.

“SEPH pigs like us really are predictable at the end of the day, aren't we? What Suya's thinking is the same thing Mom thought all the time when I was younger. It's the same thing I thought when I was like her too. I wanted to be a better piece of fuckmeat for you, but my body wasn't ready to anything other than what every other idiot SEPH was raised to do.”

In an instant, her contentment turned to longing.

“That's why Suya and I love you so much, Cruz.”

Even Cruz's concentration could not keep an utterance like this from reaching his ears.

“You found our retarded slut of a mother and decided to help her be more than she is. Thanks to that Suya and I can live the lives we ought to have had all along...”

“As your **fucking animals** ♥.”

Perhaps as compliment to Aya's verbal gratitude (or because of the consistent punch of cockmeat across her gag-reflex), Suya spoke for herself immediately after these words left Aya's lips.

As it turned out, Suya had eaten a considerable lunch before being dragged out of school to assist Cruz. This being the norm for her was not a large enough cognitive flag for her to consider the consequences that Cruz's thrusts might have on her stomach. Consequently, the repeated surging of his phallus through her esophagus (and occasionally into her stomach) prompted the organ to hold to its biological programming and vacate itself. Right in the midst of Cruz's tireless skewering of her face, an initial surge of partly-digested chunks erupted through her cock-spread esophagus straight out through her mouth and nostrils. Exactly what she had consumed was difficult to make out at a glance. Regardless, the weight of the substance spewed from her stomach and the volume that vacated her frame seemed equally reminiscent of a sludge and sexual lubricant.

Even Suya’s voice advocated for this point. All throughout its ejection, a strained “MGGMMMGH??” betwixt orgasmic pleasure and distress surged out of her face alongside her stomach contents.

Being a SEPH not yet used to having her own messes fucked into her face, Suya's failed to stifle her body’s revolted attempts at withdrawal.

Her vomit-caked mouth-cunt had been fucked throughout her regurgitation and showed no signs of stopping on her account.

*SPLOERT-SPLORT-SQULECH* 

The sound of her throat's penetration had gone from debased to nastily cluttered as well.

Before her features were marred further by her own filth, she needed to retreat.

She needed to, but she wasn't allowed to. Moments before she could begin to entertain thoughts of resuming her resistance, a noose consisting of a Kirlia's slender, feminine arm was drawn to a sickening tightness around her neck.

“Come on Suya, that's no good. If you fail, I fail—remember?” Aya sighed affectionately. “This is what it means to be an adult SEPH, so if you’re not going to give up, you’re going to stay **right there** until Cruz feeds you his cock juice…”

For no reason other than the reiteration of her point, Aya paused to tighten her noose just slightly and nuzzle her lips up against her sister’s left ear.

**“And I’m going to make sure of it.”**

-

**QUESTIONS YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER TO**

Cruz was strange.

Belied by his behaviour, disposition, and intent was a child. Despite this, most everything else about the boy pointed towards his being a slighted degenerate merely inhabiting the body of a child.

Exactly what he was known only to him, but for all intents and purposes, it was easy enough to consider him as both of these things at once.

Just as would’ve been the case for any other child, repeatedly pumping a tube of flesh clogged with lubricant and plagued by convulsion along his erect cock dragged his frame into a satisfying orgasm in next to no time at all. What sexual experience the youth had garnered up until this point contributed very little to his overall endurance; in the face of the slurred mess of flesh, fluid, and pressure offered by Aya’s esophagus, release became an outright inevitability.

Unlike a typical child, Cruz did not shrink in the face of this occasion. Knowing precisely what was in store for him if he continued to clap Suya’s sex-sodden features off of his crotch at his current pace, he wilfully maintained the pace he had set to see his masturbatory skewering of her esopahgus enhanced into a strenuous siphoning of cum straight out of his balls.

Per the ‘motivation’ he had received from Suya’s compressing her sister’s neck, a senselessly brutal orgasm at the sisters’ expense seemed all the more appropriate.

The minute after Suya injected herself into proceedings marked the eruption of his length. Gritting his teeth, Cruz floored Suya’s features into the acrid messes spread out about his crotch, and in doing so replanted his cock within a stretch of esophagus meat ridiculously close to her stomach.

With this, his cock erupted. After an initial disjointed burst of off-white cock juice from the tip of his cock, thinner (and equally wadded) strands of the substance were pushed from the tip of his cock out into scalding splatters against the smooth muscle nearest his glans. Though the muddied proteins lacked the engorgement and impact touted by the first blurt of nut to stain Suya’s gullet, their length and number nevertheless represented an impossible ‘excess’ for Aya’s tiny frame. The steaming ball-batter packed into a paltry three of these strands was enough to part, and afterwards clog the esophagus walls ahead of Cruz’s cock. As well, flushing this ‘clogging’ into her stomach was rendered a non-option for Aya. Such was the size of the first eruption of seed from his cock tip that the suffocating shortstack was set back too far to match the pace of Cruz’s release with swallowing.

This did not stop her from trying, of course. Commissioned by her body’s warped self-preservation instincts, she pushed rancid boluses of dick-milk into her stomach one after another.

In this she could not rely on the smooth muscle reflexes of her esophagus to work for her. Between her sister’s compression of her windpipe and the violation of her cognitive faculties by pungent musk, the digestive tracts functionality had been reduced to that of a fleshlight.

The exact same sort that Suya herself had promised Cruz before engulfing his member.

Consequently, ‘digging deep’ was her only option. Dogged all the way by revulsion, strain, and pleasure, Suya repeatedly gulped heavy boluses of cock juice down into her stomach one at a time.

Much to her surprise—or what semblance of it she could endure whilst her sense of self was denigrated by cock and semen—doing so felt good.

The wringing of her esophagus’ walls of the sludgy baby-juice splattered to their exteriors and the delivery of this mud into the pit of her empty stomach seemed to her as something that she ought to be proud of.

The audible *GLRP-GLRP-GLRP* that rumbled from underneath her smothered lips as she chugged reminded her of her infancy—perhaps she had heard the noises somewhere whilst still in her mother’s stomach?

Replacing her lost stomach contents with Cruz’s cock juice was elating. What time she had spent observing her mother and sister allowed her to visualize the interior of her stomach throughout its bloating with the substance. Every squirming blockage of semen she removed from the depths of her esophagus added another deluge of plaster-thick slime into the swamp growing within her stomach. Colored more similarly to a distorted grey-white as a result of its concentration, it was likely that the coagulated mess had already obscured most of her stomach’s flesh from view. Second by second, its interior was certain to expand in accommodation of the reeking sludge’s weight. 

However strenuous, the organ would perform. Its owner was a SEPH, after all—there was no greater purpose for it than serving as disposal unit for human semen.

Consumed by thoughts and feelings framed by her human-contrived genetics as positive, all of the discomfort and difficulty of Aya’s circumstance vanished before Cruz’s orgasm could be completed. Her stomach was swelling with semen; her brain was reeling from oxygen deprivation and dopamine influx; her face was submerged in musk and filth…

And she couldn’t have been happier.

In the same way that her other emotions had been transmitted, this happiness was perceived loudly and clearly by her older sister. Impressed both with her endurance and the ‘changes’ in her perception, she undid the noose she had set around Suya’s neck. Next settling her palms up against the opposing sides of her skull, she began working against Cruz’s grasp to draw her lips back up along the convulsing girth of Cruz’s cock.

No sooner did she begin her attempt did all rigidity disappear from Cruz’s hands. A knowing glance passed down from the youth to his Pokemon non-verbally approved of her intent—whatever it might be.

‘Spoiled’ in her own sense of the word, Aya took full advantage of this. Upon successfully separating Cruz`s cock from the depths of Suya’s esophagus, she shamelessly popped her baby sister’s spread lips off of his glans without regard for what might come afterwards. Snapping inward after the fact, she spread her own pube-smeared lips to see Cruz’s spurting member squeezed down to a similarly taxing depth within her own humid gullet. Eyes directed straight up at the youth as she worked, it was not long before the same guttural gulping noises that had emanated from Suya’s throat could be heard leaving her own neck.

Birthed from her efforts was a sight even Cruz had yet to lay eyes on. Whilst Aya impressed her features into the slop coating his crotch, a dazed Suya was held nearby at her shoulders. Visibly ‘used’ up, semen drawn out of her stomach by the removal of his cock could be found pooled within her exposed cavity, and tears coaxed from her eyes by her sister’s brutality could be seen steaming from the corners of her eyes. Nonetheless, it was apparent that she was happy. Though her eyes were upturned in their sockets in euphoria and her facial features were taken up in the spread of her lips, this was what Cruz inferred from the sight of her face.

Suya was the same. The tears that rolled from the corners of her eyes (a logical consequence of the sudden compression of her gag-reflex) seemed comparable to those shed by a woman on her wedding day. So content was she with the feeling of warm cock-plaster caking itself to the pit of her stomach that smothering her face into the filth atop Cruz’s crotch, tending to his spewing erection with her throatmeat, and even shedding tears for the sake of his erection became tasks that she was perfectly happy to complete.

Somehow, though, it wasn’t enough. Merely being content was not enough for the sister’s in this instance.

Cruz needed to know that they were content. Ergo, they needed to tell him.

So they did.

“Thank you, Cruz~! Thank you for loving such useless SEPH cunts ♥.” the sisters thought.

With their inner voices clearly projected into Cruz’s brain, there was no need for them to even attempt speaking in unison.

It came naturally.

“We’re gonna grow up big and strong, okay? No matter what it takes, we’re going to become better cock juice toilets than Mommy ever was. And then…”

“We’ll stay with you forever ♥.”


	5. What You Make of The World - A

A popular social trend observed some decades into the initial ‘peace period’ for human and SEPH relations surrounded extreme gestures of bilateral trust and the excessive provision of various resources between those that could be considered close neighbors, family friends, or co-workers. Succinctly, adult members of both races began ‘going out of their way’ for one another more frequently and more extensively than they might for members of their own species.

Several factors contributed to the phenomenon, the majority of which concerned the generational ‘easing’ of the prejudices maintained between the species. Over time, the children of the future replaced the hardliners of the past—individuals raised to be more acceptant and forgiving of their fellow man regardless of his or her appearance and biology. Spared from the trauma (or in the case of humans, feelings of innate superiority) that had consumed their predecessors, peaceful coexistence appeared to this new generation as an achievable and maintainable standard as opposed to a far-flung ideal.

In their pursuit of this ideal, these children subconsciously denied themselves the option of waiting for it to come to them. Influenced by developmental environments wherein equality was the rule and not the exception, they experienced no dissonance in befriending their differently born peers and interacting with them as they would their own kind. When old enough to learn of the conflicts that had separated their species and the atrocities committed by humans towards SEPH, they prioritized progression over further rumination on the past. SEPH ‘turned the other cheek’ for the sake of the future whilst humans took on feelings of second-hand guilt so as to influence their actions for the better.

The generation’s learnt ‘need’ to contribute to a better future allowed SEPH and humans born during this period species to actively moderate their behavior without a felt loss of autonomy. No matter the concession made, not one of them felt as though their forced behavior was in fact forced, or that their feelings towards humans and SEPH respectively were unnecessarily ‘good’. They instead believed that their approaches were for the best, and through this enjoyed the positive affect often inherent in ‘doing the right thing’.

Upon reaching adulthood, the self-moderation invested in by these children became innate. The lives that they lived were not unfairly slanted towards propping SEPH above humans (or vice versa), but whenever one needed help, the other jumped to their aid far more readily than one might expect from two recently integrated species.

As mentioned above, those who displayed this ‘readiness to help’ most often were individuals whose lives necessitated regular interaction with members of another race (ex. families living in the same neighborhood).

Amongst human families, particularly those that contained at least one male child, this readiness was realized in the act of ‘child-loaning’. The inborn physical inadequacy of the majority of adult male SEPH typically necessitated that smaller species of Pokemon seek aid from larger species to complete the grunt work typically designated to the eldest male(s) of a household. So as not to put their smaller neighbors through the sometimes-humiliating task of finding a larger Pokemon to rely on, adult male humans often loaned their male children out to SEPH families in need. As the tasks themselves were well-suited for children, human fathers did not need to present this aid as an imposition of charity. So long as some loose relationship existed between them and a family of SEPH, providing it was as easy as striking up a casual conversation about child rearing or a short stint of babysitting with a neighbor.

Sometimes, it was even easier. In cases wherein a male human and SEPH schooled in the same environment lived within walking distance of one another, their families often became so close that human male children could be found living amongst their SEPH neighbors as often as they might be found at their actual homes.

At the height of this trend, cases such as these were few and far between.

Much more commonly observed between households was the practice of ‘preparatory babysitting’. To better prepare for the eventualities of raising multiple children of different ages, married SEPH females were often petitioned by their husbands to babysit the children of their human neighbors when opportunities to do so presented themselves. Likely because of their desire to project trust and acceptance, these services were offered by SEPH families regardless of the actual state of their households. 

Of the practices encompassed by the shared trend, ‘preparatory baby-sitting’ was by far the most successful. Predisposed for effective parenting by their changed genetics, SEPH females successfully juggled however many children were required of them in order to ensure that their families were perceived as welcoming. Their long-standing vaccination against the pheromones put out by human male adolescents* facilitated uniform treatment for males and females, and in general, their softer dispositions prompted the children that they looked after to regard them as loveable ‘aunts’ long after they ceased spending time with them.

It bears repeating at this point that the various pros of this trend and its practices remain underscored by uncertainties even now. Take, for example, the trend itself: Whereas humans and SEPH of this generation initiated the trend through volitional action, it is likely that societal expectations perpetuated it. No one family, human or SPEH, is likely risk marking themselves as pariah by defying the norms set by their neighbors and ‘keeping to their own’ where possible. 

This aside, question marks remain over the conditions in which SEPH mothers looked after human children. It can be inferred from the reports of children who experienced these conditions that they are largely safe and up building, but whether or not this is the case uniformly is just as questionable as the quality of the environment provided by surrogate human caregivers.

What if, for example, a SEPH mother willfully accepted an adolescent child into her home whilst knowing that she had not been vaccinated as a youth? Further, what if the child that she was tasked to look after, in all of his youthful inexperience, could be convinced not to utter a word about her ‘wrongdoings’ when and if they occurred?

Though morbid, the possibility of such a hypothetical reality existing as a part of this trend beg a question to be considered in later reports:

What might become of the mind and nature a child made to grow up through such conditions?

-

**A BEDROOM**

Cruz was not supposed to be bothered by the muffled sound of crying. Save the loose sympathy felt by older children towards their younger and more vulnerable counterparts, he should not have felt anything at all.

Of course, he realized this. Laid out back first against a mattress more familiar than his own and taken up in activities far less ‘grating’ than the crying of children, his ears shouldn’t have perceived the noise at all.

But it was all he could hear. Noises rhythmically created at his crotch and a sweet voice projected overtop him competed with the sound of sobbing for prevalence to no avail. His sweat-moistened features remained slanted towards the side of the room from which they stemmed, and his attention remained firmly split between the goings-on around him and whatever unfortunate ‘cause’ had induced the crying in the first place.

Such was his preoccupation that the only other person aware of the ‘insignificant’ noise thought to question him on it for his own good.

“What’s…”

*SPLATTT!*

“Wrong…”

*PLAPP!*

“Cruz?”

*PLAPP!*

“You stopped kissing me—is something bothering you? If there is, all you have to do is say so. I don’t wanna be the kind of greedy pig that lets her trainer miss out on feeling good just ‘cause of what his dick is doing to her brain ♥.”

The woman responsible for the utterances that flowed into Cruz’s ear was Helena—the mother of the children worked to a wail somewhere within the house and the SEPH woman with whom he spent many of his mornings and afternoons. Speaking out in the midst of intimately smothering his chest with the plump swell of her breasts and ruthlessly driving the fat of her buttocks and upper thighs along the length of his cock, Cruz reasoned that she had busied herself with far too many ‘enjoyable’ activities for the extraneous noise produced by her children to reach her.

To him, this was both surprising and entirely not. Ignoring the complaints of her children was something that Helena did quite often. Even now, however, her doing so plucked a chord within him. A mother that could become so enamored with goring her cunt with his cock did not seem like much of a mother at all. Other facts within his mind contradicted this point, but their existence did little to change his feelings in the present.

Far too innocent to dwell on the thought as it occurred, Cruz turned his sweat-slickened features away from their absentminded slant off towards the edge of the bedroom and back towards a face-to-face position underneath Helena’s. Immune to the endearingly-depraved expression that shone down on him after the fact, he parted his lips to respond to her question.

The words he intended to produce never left his throat. Right as he began to form them, a droplet of blood fed volume from a thick trickling of the substance from Helena’s right nostril slipped off her upper lip and collided with his cheek.

This—not the ravenous bouncing of her gelatinous rear or the perverse language that she uttered in the presence of child—moved Helena to bashfulness. Quickly raising her right hand away from its embrace of Cruz’s upper back, she swiped the blood into a smear across the side of her face and blushed.

“Sorry, sorry; I can’t really help myself anymore, sweetie. Destroying my brain with your cock just feels too nice sometimes…” she exhaled wistfully. “Here, it’s okay. I can feel that you’re really close to squirting more baby-juice into my useless bitch factory again. That’ll make you feel better, right?”

“Making sure I give birth to more useless feral cunts will make you feel better, right?” 

“Of course it will ♥.”

Cruz did not have an answer to the Helena’s question. He was not so fatigued as to abandon thought, and contrary to what ought to have been the case, the ‘topic’ she had referenced was not obscured by his inexperience.

As was natural for a child, he was torn. Helena regularly referred to herself as a disposable animal and went as far as showing him the way that one behaved over and over again. She had reminded him on several occasions that she was not a person and did not need to be treated as such whenever they were alone, and even rewarded him for using her as she ‘ought to be used’.

Nevertheless, a part of the boy’s mind refused to budge. Completely internalizing the idea that the ‘nice lady’ his father had introduced him to a year ago was a simple, sex-drunk animal to be used and thrown away did not sit well with him. Past this, what a ‘sex-drunk animal’ was—and whether or not this thing was good or bad—was not entirely clear to him.

Helena did not care what this part of Cruz thought. Privy to its existence and its muddling of her perfect partner’s behavior, she followed up her assurance to Cruz with a deft peeling of her sex-drenched frame from off of the boy’s chest. Transitioning into a deep, open-crotch (and toe-supported) squat atop his crotch, its completion saw her reassume her embrace of his upper back and drag him into an abbreviated seated position that again mashed his face into the clothed bloat of her breasts.

The young mother sought no ‘intimate contact’ from the gesture. The moment she rose into her squat, the unruly, semen-plastered pipe of cockmeat within her was driven to a deeper wedge against the ceiling of her womb. 

From the harshened contact between Cruz’s glans and her well-used baby-pocket came wave after wave of wriggling and throbbing through the root system of blood vessels that enveloped its exterior. Essentially, everything about her semen-greased hilt along the boy’s member became better—so much so that she found herself acting in search of further improvements almost immediately.

In the blink of an eye, she slid her hips outwards and upwards by a precious handful of inches. Drawing an equivalent chunk of puffy phallus-meat from her depths behind noisy splutters of chunked semen in the process, she received for her troubles a strenuous grind of oversized boy-cock through her feminine inwards. Just as soon as these inches were free from the greedy suction of her cunt, she curled her hips through a monstrous, balls-deep slam to send their girth back inside of her. Messily displacing a wet *GLORP* of discolored cock juice through her lower lips in the process, she happily pressed several inches of vein-studded cockmeat back through her swollen folds and into the delivery of a pleasantly-nauseating punch of glans flesh against her womb.

The stinging bliss that resounded through her female organ after the fact motivated her to further obscenities. Following the first outward flick of her rear, she swiftly took to reproducing her gut-wrenching ‘hump’ of Cruz’s crotch at a speed that turned the ‘punches’ of cockmeat against her womb into a repeated, organ-fattening pummel of the domesticated baby-maker’s ceiling.

Whether by virtue of stimuli or exertion, silence whilst producing these thrusts was impossible.

“J-Just—l-like—t-this…” eyes up-turned in bliss and lips curled into a smile as soft as it was deranged, Helena narrated her humping chain in a tone of voice that matched the gulping and squelching that was repeatedly fucked from her cunt. “You deserve to use my meat j-just like this, C-Cruz. I-I’m just a stupid SEPH pig who is only good at spitting out babies and getting s-stuffed w-with human cock juice. I-I don’t matter, s-so you don’t have to think about anything e-else, okay? J-Just l-let me fuck myself r-retarded on your c-cock and throw me awauuu♥♥—a-away after ♥.”

Precisely as she had intended, her pumping and driving along Cruz’s member rendered the meat of her cunt as a glutted onahole of flesh and lubrication—one that was certain to bring the youth to an orgasm at the expense of grinding destructive amounts of pleasure into her brain.

But this was the point. Cruz was her trainer—her better in every way possible and the person to which the rest of her lifespan belonged. Even if he was not entirely aware of it or convinced of it as a reality, he deserved the opportunity to masturbate with her innards and seed them as he saw fit.

She intended to give him this opportunity. Not once or twice, but as many times as was necessary for him to recognize his superiority and grant her the same ‘purpose’ that SEPH had once prided themselves in. 

With this in mind—or as much as was possible as she continued to fuck away fractions of her ‘self’—Helena made certain that her bouncing along the boy’s cock did not become homogenous with time. Likely as a result of her filling herself with the boy’s cock volitionally, she eventually found it within herself to peel her eyes from their euphoric upturning and shift them back down to stare at the skull she had mashed into her sweaty breasts. 

Loosening her embrace to allow her dizzied ‘owner’ the opportunity to breathe, she again beamed an expression of perverse (and disarmingly bloody) adulation at him. 

“D-Doesn’t getting jerked off with a sow’s cunt feel good, Cruz?” she asked, voice and facial features in stark contrast with one another. “I’m gutting my womb with your c-cock so hard t-that I wanna fucking puke, b-but you haven’t cum yetttt. My insides a-aren’t getting boring f-for you, are they?” 

Comically, it was the Mew’s faux pouting that motivated the youth to speech as opposed to the ball-draining pleasure that her cunt squeezed up and down the meat of his erection.

Really, he was in no way immune to the sensations—he had simply resigned himself to consumption by them.

“N-No…” Cruz began, voice breathless and strained. “I-It’s just…the n-noi—“

Alarmingly astute for a SEPH so utterly attached to her ‘biological roots’, Helena cut Cruz’s sentence short before its contents could infect proceedings with matters irrelevant to his pleasure. Pushing her skull downwards, she aggressively smothered her lips down against his own to ensure that no words passed through them. This done, she invaded the confines of his mouth with her tongue and made a concerted effort to use the organ as a ‘stopper’ for the back of his throat.

All the while, her inward thrusting continued uninhibited. Kissing whilst producing a sex-act had never been an activity that required her to split her focus, so executing both acts at the same time was never very effortful for her.

After silencing the boy, her attentions turned to using what remained of her ‘thinking ability’ within the sex-ruined mush of her brain to keep Cruz on the path that she had set for him.

“Still distracted. It’s all their fucking fault, I swear.” she muttered internally. “I’ll have to take a different approach to this because of them. I wanted his dick juice inside me so bad, but now I have to wait. None of those girls are going to amount to anything when they grow up...”

“Whatever.”

Path set, Helena altered the shape of her coupling with Cruz for a second time. Behind a final, cunt-flattening *SPLAT* of her leaking lower lips against the exterior of his crotch and a needy rolling of her hips that swirled the meat of his erection around inside her folds, she began sliding her hips upwards with no signs of stopping. Clearing the maximum height of her thrusts and several inches of cock past that, she afterwards continued past this point into an ascent to her feet and a complete extraction of his cock from her folds.

Her doing so eventually did not make the lead up to the happening anymore painstaking. Every inch that she extracted from her slobbering folds released numerous wads of semen down into noisy, glue-like slithers against the reddened flesh of his member. As if this was not enough sensation for the youth to deal with, the force with which her folds suckled against his shaft’s girth made their ‘peeling’ from off of it feel akin to the removal of a disgustingly pleasurable bandage. 

Before it was off, Cruz’s eyes were squeezed shut in catharsis, and his lips were drawn far enough apart in exhalation that saliva began drooling from their right corner. Surprisingly, though, he did not shudder at the clogged *PLORTT!* of semen that burst from the SEPH’s cunt after it was uncorked. Compared to loss of her fattened canal’s squeezing and grinding around his member, the expulsion of a softball width dollop of semen back onto his crotch was almost negligible. 

Much like an in-patient unfortunate enough to be conscious during an operation, Cruz dared to pull his visage from its upturning in an attempt at ascertaining what was to happen to him next. 

What this was exactly no longer mattered to him. In his time under Helena’s supervision, he had engaged in so many different kinds of ‘sex’ that he was no longer certain as to what did and did not qualify as it. 

His decision to peer down at the event was a matter of curiosity both masculine and morbid. No matter their age, a boy was a boy—even endowed with enough stinking cockmeat and chewy semen to tempt a mother of two into destroying her own life without so much as a word.

Until now, of course.

“I-I thought…y-you were going to finish…” Cruz panted, eyes trained on the pink frame rising up ahead of his erection. “W-Wouldn’t it be better if you just finish now? T-That way, maybe…”

“Maybe you can help the babies with—”

Cruz’s speaking coincided with Helena’s first step on her ‘alternative route to success’. A shortstack through and through, the half-naked Mew descended from her squat down into a knee-bent straddling of Cruz’s crotch, then lowered her skull and bust to ideal positions opposite the underside of his cock. This done, her lips sat inches above the engorged fist-mushroom of glans flesh at its tip, and her breasts sat only a short inward slide away from a sweat-slickened envelopment of his trunk’s bulk. 

Here, she removed all need for the boy to concern himself with the duration of proceedings. Reaching forward with both hands, she affectionately sandwiched the semen-smeared girth of his cock’s midsection between both of her palms. Incapable of decency or moderation where her trainer’s stinking flesh-tower was concerned, she next parted her lips, and finally plunged her gooey maw down into a slovenly ‘consumption’ of Cruz’s cock. Indifferent to her lips’ perverse accommodation (stretching) of his glans’ softball-like thickness, she did not stop the descent of her skull until the congealed depths of her esophagus forced her to.

Then, just as had been the case with her rear, she began to bob. Intentionally choking mucus-laden gagging noises from out of the back of her throat as she worked, she took to squeezing her lips up and down the cock-section as sloppily and angrily as she could. 

In this, she utilized every perverse ‘tool’ gifted to her by her genetics. Using the throat-slop and mucus yoked from her throat each time she skewered her lips down to their ‘stopping point’ directly above her hands’ compression of his cock, she kept each of her neck-fattening strokes both smooth and undeniably greasy. Capable of functioning with far less oxygen than a human whilst choking herself on a cock, she used what little breathing time she could eek out for herself to aggressively snort and huff at the air each time as she worked. By feeding additional musk into her sinuses, she injected further energy into vehemently plunging her esophagus up and down the boy’s length, and in doing so perpetuated her efforts by flooding her brain with destructive narcotics.

The result of her efforts was a half-length throatfucking that lost nothing for its abbreviation—not so far as the boy enjoying it was concerned, anyway.

At any given moment, Cruz was subjected to the sensation of having nearly half of his length gored inside an orifice on par with Helena’s cunt. Tighter, sloppier, and apparently bottomless, each second that his cock spent constricted by its glutted interior edged him closer still towards a release.

But a second was all he ever received. For Helena, mushing half of a sex-greased human cock down her throat was effectively child’s-play. Consequentially, no matter how loud the *GLRPS!* that she squeezed from her throat and the expulsions of throat-slime that she forced herself to spew over her own hands, she never needed more than a second or so to move between bloating her esophagus with cockmeat and vacating it.

Again, this was precisely what the Mew had intended. All throughout the initial minute of her efforts, Helena projected a voracious hunger towards the sprawled out youth ahead of her. She knew exactly what she was doing and how quickly it would make her trainer orgasm…

Right down to the second.

“Cum.”

“Down.”

“My.

“Throat♥. Baste my fucking tonsils in your cock juice ♥.”

Well into her chain of plunges and ascents, these words rang out within Helena’s mind. Unspoken and impotent, she produced them in hopes that her desire to feel Cruz’s cock juice cake her esophagus and warm the base of her stomach might make the happening a reality. 

Subconsciously, she knew that she did not need them to. He did not produce the feverish throbbing of the veins impressed against her esophagus lining and the desperate pants that slithered through his lips for fun. He was already at his limit; the only thing that was required for her to have what she desired was a push.

As such, her body produced one. Without warning, Helena followed up her deepest and wettest socketing of drooling throatflesh along his member with a sluggish upward drag of her skull back along his length. Lips spread perversely around his girth throughout her ascent, she imposed as much pressure as she could with the squishy pillows to see several strands of her own throat-slop sucked back into her mouth as she moved upwards.

At his glans, she ceased moving entirely. When the ascent of her lips left only the tip of his cock within her mouth, she replaced the suction that they applied to his member with a vigorous swirling of her tongue from his shaft’s underside up to its top-half. In the midst of the ravenous scrubbing, she allowed all of the opaque muck drawn into her mouth throughout her ascent to begin drizzling back down the length of his cock. Like this, every revolution she completed with her tongue whipped a fraction of her throat’s mudslide around Cruz’s glans, and in turn compiled a gooey smoothness to the scrubbing that she applied with the organ.

A half minute of this treatment was all that the youth could stand. 

After this point, an engorged rope of semen was flushed through a strenuous crawl up the length of his urethra before bursting from the tip of his cock like a sludge-laden bullet. 

Having timed the event down to the second it occurred, the caking of freshly produced nut-sludge to the back of her throat came as no surprise to Helena. Instead perceiving the happening as a signal, she responded to the weighted mire’s discharge with another starved compression of her lips across the grime-caked exterior of Cruz’s member. This time, however, she did not stop at the consumption of half of its meat. As the slop-gunked limbs served no further purpose, she peeled both of her hands from out of their envelopment of his member well before they could interfere with her neck-bloating descent. In doing so, the entirety of Cruz’s second and third ropes of semen spurted out against the inner lining of her esophagus as opposed to her throat. By the release fourth, all of the boy’s writhing shaft had disappeared. In the blink of an eye—and without a gag or stutter— Helena floored her gullet along his cock down to a nostril-plugging kiss with his crotch.

If not in the manner that she had hoped for, doing so granted her the ‘filling’ that her ruined genetics yearned for. Double-thick blurts of mildly-discolored ejaculate were vomited from Cruz’s glans into innumerable streaks and blotches against the inner lining of her esophagus. Owning a consistency comparable to a mixture of industrial glue and melted cheese, their contents immediately invoked peristalsis within the tube of smooth muscle lest its owner asphyxiate herself on cock juice within seconds. Though ‘successful’ in the sense that the jellied shoelaces of nut never amounted to an outright clogging of its interior, the contractions produced by her esophagus were nowhere near as effective as they might’ve been with another substance. Nauseating *GLORPS* better suited to the chugging of peat through a pipe rumbled out from Helena’s face for each ‘gulp’ she produced, and for all of the gullet-staining seed that she flushed into her stomach, comparable amounts of the substance were left smeared to her esophagus as though it were a poorly maintained drainage pipe.

In the moment, Helena could have cared less. Since the settlement of her nostrils to Cruz’s crotch, every slop-threaded breath of air that she took was one saturated in the mixed scents of cock sweat and semen. Having been denied vaccination as a developing young woman, each one of these noisome inhalations was to her as an injection of high-grade heroin might’ve been to an addict. Everything felt right to her, and as a result, the inefficiencies in her esophagus’ chugging of cock juice went disregarded by her psyche as irrelevant.

  
  


To her, this was living. Not raising children, not being a good wife; not even being a person.

Only this: rotting her brain on the stench of human cockmeat and filling her stomach with the semen of a child.

As such, she enjoyed the sensation for as long as she could. When her stomach was halfway swollen with the seed Cruz produced, she continued to breathe and swallow. When the organ’s expectations for the volume of sludge it was to contain were exceeded—which in turn resulted in an embarrassing rejection of nut back up through her esophagus—she continued to breathe and swallow through the event. Even when this excess volume messily burbled out from underneath her lips and through her nostrils, she refused to budge. Her only response was a short-lived twitching of her lower body tied to an orgasmic splutter of female lubrication from her lower lips and onto her inner thighs.

It was only when the smell of stale semen overpowered the stench of Cruz’s cock that she began thinking again. Prone to much more lucid thoughts when not in need of ‘fulfillment’, these thoughts were devoid of the euphoric babbling that could be expected of a woman post orgasm.

Instead, most of them concerned the only matter of relevance that remained for her: experiencing the blissful fulfillment that had come over her all over again.

Most, anyway.

“All of this cum could have ended up squirming inside my womb instead of my stomach. I’d have gotten pregnant for sure, and Cruz would have been able to breed another sow out of me. It’s really such a shame…” lamenting her circumstance in the same way that a younger girl might’ve a lost chance at ice cream or some shit, Helena repeated what she had missed out on to herself before moving along to mull over its silver lining.

“This did save a little bit of time, though. As long as I stick to the plan, I’ll still have plenty of time to be of use to my trainer.”

“I just have to…”

“Pull him out and stand up. Let’s start with that…”

The coherent thoughts produced within Helena’s core did not magically undo the numbing of her nervous system. Borderline invalid from what she had put herself through at the base of Cruz’s cock, extracting his member from her throat required far more effort from her than it usually did. Even with the combined repulsion of her hands (set against his crotch) and the backwards yanking of her skull, the effort still required several long, semen-laden seconds of ‘investment’ from her.

What came afterwards was no better. When finally she succeeded in popping her lips from out of their sodden embrace with his glans, she found that she could not hold herself upright. Flopping backwards onto the surface of her mattress, waves of nausea and debilitating pleasure crashed against her psyche simultaneously.

These were not sensation that she could handle with grace. After a few short seconds of attempting to catch her breath, excess semen still welled within her esophagus burst from the back of her throat in the form of a muted geyser. Large enough and heavy enough to clear her parted lips without drawing her body into the throes of regurgitation, its contents splattered out against the black fabric of her t-shirt in the form of a single, disjointed puddle of cock juice. 

In isolation, the happening didn’t require explanation. The unnatural volume of semen she had consumed and her brain’s lack of administrative ability primed her stomach for some form of consequence. 

Comically, as if to exonerate itself of failure—or perhaps to remind its owner what had been done to it—a second strand of fresh blood from Helena’s brain began leaking from her right nostril after the fact.

Embarrassed, Helena could not help but speak out in response to the happenings.

“S-Shit. I-I thought I was past b-being such an inefficient pig...” she muttered, voice congested by semen. “I r-really need your help, Cruz. I want you to be able to…use me for as long as possible…so I need you to do something for me…”

Since Cruz’s release, Helena hadn’t bothered to ascertain whether the boy was still conscious. There was no need for her to; the boy that she had selected as her trainer would never succumb to an orgasm as ‘half-assed’ as the one she had provided.

And she was right. Not long after posing her question, a small voice thinned by fatigue rang out to match her own.

“…W-What’s that, Helena? I’m r-really kind kinda sleepy now…” Cruz replied, weakly.

“It’s okay, I know you can do it ♥. W-We’ve already practiced a bunch. Once you do, you can go to sleep, okay?” Helena assured. 

Understandably without the desire to think or question the adult woman, Cruz took the affection in her voice to mean that whatever she asked of him was likely to be for the best.

“O-Okay…I-I’ll try…”

“G-Good. Now, just like we practiced: What do you say when you want Helena to feel better?”

Much to Cruz’s surprise, what was asked of him was far easier than he had expected it to be. Utilizing his last vestiges of consciousness, he curled his lips to produce the response that Helena had helped pound into the very core of his brain.

“MEW, use RECOVER…” 

This uttered, the boy abandoned consciousness. The moment he allowed weighted eyelids the closure that they yearned for, his perception of the world around him disappeared alongside his sight.

He would never know it, but his doing so spared what remained of his innocence from Helena’s warping of his psyche. No sooner his words reach Helena’s ears was the interior of her bedroom made a site for orgasmic groaning and a vehement discharge of steaming cunt-syrup from between the legs of a SEPH…

All whilst the flow of blood from her nose continued uninhibited.

-

**WHAT YOU ARE**

There was once a SEPH girl with everything in life.

Born as the only child of a loving mother and father blessed with generational wealth, most every facet of her life from birth to adulthood could be encapsulated within a stereotype. 

As a little girl, she was treasured by her parents, doted on by those closest to her, and quietly envied by her tottering peers. Opportunities denied to other children were availed to her in spades, and the resources upon which her future would be built were continuously stockpiled by her family to ensure that she would never want for anything as an adult.

Despite having everything, the SEPH girl was unspoiled and generous. Wise enough to recognize what their love might do to their daughter’s sense of self overtime, her parents worked to impress ‘normalcy’ into her personality from her formative years right into her adolescence. Their intent was to raise a daughter and not an heiress; a young woman respected and admired by her peers in spite of her wealth and not because of it.

Rigid in their hopes for her ideal future, the SEPH girl’s parents made certain to succeed. By the age of 18, none familiar with their daughter had a negative thing to say about her. As capable, lovable, and desirable as a young woman could be, the pair were sometimes reduced to a wordless marvelling at the person that they had helped create.

Their reason for desiring such a daughter was not wholly unselfish. Within them, separate and apart from their parental love, was an old-fashioned traditionalism: customs and value systems maintained by most SEPH, but exacerbated in extent and perceived importance.

Succinctly, they desired for their daughter to marry one of her kind as early into adulthood as possible and contribute to the new world primarily as a mother and wife, and secondarily as whatever she wished to be. 

If she was to accomplish this, she needed to be perfect. Though early arranged marriages amongst SEPH had persisted as a broadly observed convention, the number of unmarried male SEPH dwindled by the day. Worse still, families willing to conscript their children to a partner from birth were few and far between. Times had changed—whereas SEPH had once married solely for the sake of ‘fixing’ a problem that their species was not responsible for, the majority now opted to do so for romantic reasons. Thusly, their daughter’s finding success in marriage hinged on her casting as wide a ‘net’ for potential males as possible.

Regrettably, in their efforts to create an ideal young woman, they instead created a nearly unapproachable one. When the year of her vaccination arrived, they did the unthinkable and quietly purposed their vast resources to see records of a successful administration fabricated. Per the beliefs held by most traditionalists, sparing her the treatment would allow her to grow to her full potential. And she did; between her status and the physical assets that she acquired as she grew, most male SEPH aged similarly to their daughter were made to face a young woman too ideal and too attractive. Fearing inadequacy and rejection, the young men around her presumed her to be spoken for and passed over her for more ‘attainable’ women.

Just as the pair began to lose hope in their daughter’s ideal future, a ray of hope shone into their lives in the form of a male Drowzee. 3 decades their daughter’s senior, he did not seem to be an appropriate partner for her at a glance. Not even the most desperate of parents could look at a rotund older man prone to leering and see “success”.

But he was. He hailed form a family of comparable wealth to their own—meaning that their daughter would be well cared for—and had “somehow” (Look at these niggas trusting a Drowzee.) established positive rapport with all those that they inquired about him to. Apparently, his looks were only part of the story. Beneath his appearance was a caring and upright individual likely to treat his wife* (semen-toilet) with care for the rest of her days.

Denied their sole reason for refusing the man, the couple accepted his proposal and only presented it to their daughter after the fact.

The SEPH girl did not complain. Her investment in the SEPH value system was far from dogmatic, but the comforts of her youth had rendered her prone to trusting her parents’ judgement over her own. All that she needed to be convinced that marrying the Drowzee was best was their say so.

And she received it. After being visually molested by him on their first meeting, she received it. On their wedding day, she was promised the future that all idyllic little girls dream of. Pregnant with her first child just shy of her 19th birthday, they repeated themselves and claimed to be proud of the woman she had become.

Each time she was told, the SEPH girl believed them. She believed that the daily clogging of her holes with the Drowzee’s rancid, bestial cock would come to an end. She believed that she might be able to do something with her life after giving birth to her daughter—something that did not involve gargling her husband’s semen in front of him while he recorded it. 

She believed, believed, and believed until at last their words rang true.

One day, the Drowzee that she married passed away in his sleep. Investigative authorities wrongly suspected that he may’ve been suffocated by someone close to him, but his medical report removed all need for suspicion and doubt.

A blood vessel within his brain had ruptured—one so deeply nestled within the organ that jarring it without signage of blunt trauma would be impossible.

Not unless one knew magic.

And so, at the age of 20, the SEPH girl was freed. Left an unreasonable amount of personal wealth by law and sheltered from further hardship by her guilt-ridden parents, the simple life of safety and comfort she had once enjoyed was returned to her.

But she was no longer the same. The SEPH girl who loved her mother and father and desired only to live a life that might make them proud died with the man who had decided to subject her to sexual brutality on a daily basis. In her place was born another SEPH girl—one mutilated at her core and without trust in her kind and their customs.

This girl and her predecessor could not have been more different. Whereas the last girl hated the Drowzee’s treatment of her, this girl despised only the man responsible for it. The last girl’s love for her parents and starry-eyed dreams for the future stood out to this girl as useless distractions from a life she could be living more freely. Most importantly, this girl was of the opinion that she had no value. 

Deep within her, perhaps from the same otherworldly wellspring that her magic had come from, something assured her as much.

Convinced, this girl set out to live the remainder of her life in a way that might confirm the statement that she felt within herself. Using the money left to her by her husband, she took her infant child and moved to a pocket of suburbia far enough away from her home that those who once knew her would never follow.

Here, she finally began to live. She changed the way that she dressed, the people that she associated with—everything that she could to distance herself from the deceased wretch that she that had once owned her name and face.

She did not do so carelessly, however. Privy to her status as a SEPH and the environment she had placed herself in, she used the knowledge acquired within her last life to present herself to all those she came into contact with as the ‘endearing single mother down the street’.

If trying at times, the decision paid dividends. By effortfully projecting herself as something she wasn’t, the SEPH girl attracted individuals who genuinely believed that she was what she appeared to be. More often than not, these individuals were human.

Human adults with children.

As a woman of the modern age, the SEPH girl held no ill will towards these humans. Everything that she had been taught, everything that she had experienced; all of these things suggested that the interest and affect projected by these humans was genuine. 

Months of playing along with their kindness prompted the ‘place’ within her heart to speak out on the subject.

This time, it had a suggestion:

What better way for a valueless piece of meat to prove herself than by betraying the goodwill extended towards her in the worst way possible?

According to history books, there was once a time when humans regarded SEPH as worthless and SEPH regarded themselves as animals. Now long since passed, arguing for the validity of such mindsets was a sure fire means of marking oneself as deranged. 

But what if arguing for it was unnecessary? What if a human was raised from childhood to believe himself better than all of the SEPH in the world? That their very existences were predicated on satisfying his whims and multiplying for his satiation?

The SEPH girl rather liked the idea of such a human. At first solely as an idea, the increasing number of malleable and impressionable children brought into her presence made it seem more and more attainable to her as a reality.

When finally her repute amongst the families within her neighborhood landed her with an opportunity to babysit, the voice within her made a decision on her behalf: 

She would create a boy who would see to it that girls like her never be born ever again.

-


	6. What You Make of The World - B

**HELENA'S BEDROOM**

Upon awakening, Cruz was greeted with silence. Granted both the time and comfort to drag himself into consciousness, the absence of extraneous noise was the first thing that became apparent to him.

Mentally, he was far too hazy to recall why the lack of noise around him was significant. Then and there, the soreness that rippled through his body as he sat up and the partial nakedness of his body were much more concerning to him.

For a precious handful of seconds, the events prior to his passing out were inaccessible to him. Like any other bleary-eyed child, he sluggishly shifted his legs over the edge of his mattress and rubbed his hands at his eyes in an attempt at waking himself up.

And then it hit him. A moment on his feet sent all of his memories concerning the events of the preceding half-day flowing back into his mind with the force of water from a ruptured dam. For each one, a mental image pertaining to it (some far more graphic than others) cycled past his mind’s eye just slow enough for him to perceive each of them individually. 

Being a child, not one of these memories struck Cruz as something that warranted revulsion or petrification. Unaware, or perhaps indifferent to their true nature, his first and only thought after recalling them pertained to the ‘consequent’ promised by Helena after their completion.

The crying that had nagged at him hours prior had stopped. As well, Helena was nowhere to be seen. Taken together, these facts pushed the boy’s mind towards a naïve and all-too comforting conclusion.

“I guess everything is alright now.” Cruz thought to himself. “Babies usually don’t cry when there isn’t something wrong, so everything bein’ quite has t’be good.”

Assuring himself with a nod and a smile, his attentions turned to the ‘morning’ he had woken up to. Pattering off to the right of the bed, he briefly peaked his head around the sun-warmed curtain hung ahead of the bedroom’s sole window. Beyond it was the familiar expanse of Helena’s front yard as bathed in the light of a clear and cloudless morning. 

Pleasant as the sight was, an actual morning was not what Cruz had hoped to see behind the curtain. At the sight of it, he turned on his heels and set off into a driven stride towards the bedroom’s door.

As he moved, the smile on his face became far less relieved, and far more embarrassed.

“I slept too much again. I did a lot of stuff yesterday, but it’s still no good.” he mumbled aloud. “I’m supposed to be helping Auntie Helena while I’m here. I hope everything is still alright downstairs...”

  
  


Having spent many a weekend within the single SEPH’s household, a part of Cruz understood that one morning of sleeping in was unlikely to result in disaster. Helena was entirely capable of managing on her own (provided she actually wished to do it), and more often than not, the tasks that he completed as her self-assigned ‘helper’ were limited to things that even his childish mind could recognize as trivialities.

Nevertheless, he hurried himself along. Pushing through the bedroom door, he cut across the left side of the second floor corridor and began descending from the staircase leading up to it as though there was somewhere that he needed to be.

In his mind, there was. No matter how trivial his contributions or how capable his ‘Aunt’, a truth unknown to most—one instilled within him and reinforced by the same woman he sought—necessitated that he be present to help her whenever he could:

**“SEPH women are useless pigs who are only good for birthing children and being disgusting whores! They can’t function without humans to tell them what to do and keep their desires in check, so it's our responsibility to make sure that they serve whatever purpose is best for them!”**

Spurred on by the female voice speaking at the root of his mind, Cruz cleared the flight of stairs ahead of him and again veered off to his left into the kitchen. 

A single step into its interior replaced his concern with relief. Contrary to her voice’s suggestions, no disaster had befallen his aunt. Infant cradled in one arm and smothered up against her bust and eyes glued to the face of a cellphone clasped by her free hand, she appeared no different than she usually did in the morning…

At a glance, of course.

In his relief, Cruz’s eyes intentionally glossed over the dried smears of blood that remained pressed across her upper lip and her startling lack of clothes from her waist downward. 

Helena, whether sitting, standing, or bouncing her rear up and down the girth of a child’s cock, personified the realities of life as a SEPH female. Though nearly triple the age of the boy beneath her, she stood only a foot and a half above him whilst standing outright. The fact that she could manage standing at all with the sheer amount of doughy-fat packed into her breasts was a miracle—one overlooked by both Cruz and Helena herself, but a miracle nonetheless. 

All about the rest of her frame, flesh and fat were smoothed, stacked, and squished into every feminine ‘pocket’ that would take them. Squishy E-Cup breasts comparable to the size of her head (if not rounded and somewhat larger) engorged the sweat and semen-caked fabric of her t-shirt to an extent that made the bloat of their (tea cup dish)-sized areola and the knob-width cylinders of nipple flesh attached to them seem as though they weren’t covered. As well, they refused to hang from the front of her frame as naturally engorged breasts—every bit of their plush pink roundness was situated so youthfully at her chest that one could be forgiven for doubting her age.

The thick, forward hanging tufts of darkly-highlighted ‘hair’ draped across her forehead from the front of her skull and the bubblegum pink choker enveloping her neck added further ambiguity to her exact age. 

Neither were visual traits typically associated with a mother of two, but on Helena, they fit. As an unvaccinated and clearly ‘unrestricted’ female SEPH, risqué sexuality hardly ever appeared ‘wrong’ where her frame was concerned.

From her waist downward, bowed hips widened by several pregnancies and thighs thickened with enough fat to compliment her breasts made her identity much less ambiguous. Much like any other SEPH parent, her lower half seemed to be in a perpetual state of ‘readiness’ for child-bearing. Her semen-greased thighs were wider than her youthful charge’s torso, and the fertile curvature that bled into the nut-caked expanse of her crotch framed a stomach cutely padded with the slightest chub of a born and bred breeder. At a glance—perhaps one not owned by a 6 year old—the absence of clothing at her lower body was likely for the best. Unless the garment was baggy and oversized, her hips would have stretched it, her thighs would have thinned it, and her ass would have utterly consumed it.

  
  
  
  


Cruz’s mild awe at the sight of the older woman provided Helena with all the time in the world to peel her attention away from her phone and recognize her favorite tiny presence within the kitchen.

“There you are, sleepyhead.” she began, voice disturbingly ‘natural’ for the state of her body. “I knew you might be a little tired after how helpful you were last night, so I made sure not to wake you when I got up. Did you sleep okay?”

Taken aback by her greeting, Cruz again found himself at odds with his tongue. Unless requested otherwise, his behavior around the older woman was typically sheepish; without his concern for her as a motivator, defying this norm was very difficult for him. Consequently, his response to her question was a simple, affectless nod.

Acceptant and acclimatized to the boy’s natural behavior, Helena took this nod to mean that all was well.

“Good, I’m glad. I really would prefer if you told me when to get up and start doing things, but I know you’re not quite sure about that yet.” she continued, smiling. “For now, I’ll continue being a helpful bitch and will use my best judgement to keep you comfortable in the future, okay?”

Again, Cruz could do little more than nod in response. Words sat on the tip of his tongue, but he lacked the desire to utter them. Silence was more comfortable—more normal.

Unaffected, Helena took the second silent nod she received in stride. Though she would’ve loved nothing more than for Cruz to state his intentions for her future then and there, she remained of the opinion that it was not her place to genuinely sulk when her desires were not fulfilled. Her purpose was that of Cruz’s tool; thoughts and feelings of her own were of no use to her. 

This did not leave the SEPH without volition, however. Until Cruz himself saw fit to define her life, reminding him of his privilege and acting in his best interest remained her responsibility—or so she told herself.

Thus, following his nod, she discarded her phone atop the counter ahead of her and walked towards him until she was close enough to begin smelling him again.

The effects of his youthful stench hit her immediately. All at once, a pleasant light-headedness invaded her skull, and the beating of her heart jumped to an excited flutter. Fresh lubrication burbled to a sticky ooze between her legs, and if only slightly, perspiration began seeping through near every pore on her body.

Practiced even in arousal, these symptoms did not slow her arrival ahead of the youth. Here, she dipped her skull down ever so slightly to peck a short kiss against his forehead. Predicting eye contact after the fact, she kept her gaze slanted towards his face until a tilting of his own features prompted her to speak.

“Anyway, now that you’re awake, I thought today would be a good day for you to practice using me some more.” she suggested, words and expression still in conflict with one another. “I was a very awful sow to you last night, Cruz. As much as I hate the thought of having to compete with these stupid brats you’ve fucked into me one day, it’s important that they have a good role model growing up, don’t you think?”

Responding to this inquiry with further silence was not an option for Cruz. Now, the topic of conversation no longer simply concerned himself. It concerned the well-being of others, and more importantly, his responsibilities to them.

As such, he spoke. Quietly, but confidently.

“I know it’s important, but don’t you enjoy being a…”as prone as any child to forgetting the placement of words, a brief pause interrupted the boy mid-sentence. “A ‘sow’ like that? You seemed really happy just being able to do what you wanted t’do.”

Giggling warmly, Helena applied a second aspect of intimacy to her position ahead of the boy. Raising her freehand up to a consistent tousle of his hair, the settlement of her palm saw her slip into a brief nod of her head. 

“Yes, I am, sweetie. I enjoy it very much.” she replied. “That doesn’t change what I am, though. And what am I?”

Abruptly, words began flowing through Cruz’s lips much more freely.

“I know, I know. You’re just a greedy pig that’s suppose ta be used ‘till she dies. Everything else that you know how to do is just t’help that...”

“Very good, I knew you’d remember.” affirmed Helena. “As much as I’d like to ruin my insides on your cock over and over again, that wouldn’t make me very useful to you, now would it? I’d just end up as a braindead jizzsocket that would need to be replaced that much sooner.”

“My purpose is to provide you with as much pleasure as possible and spit out as many of these tiny cunts as I can before becoming useless. It makes me happy that you enjoy seeing me feel good, but what I feel doesn’t matter. That’s why you have to practice doing whatever you like—we’ll both be happier that way.”

Cruz had no reason to doubt these words. The discomfort that he felt whilst participating in Helena’s satiation and the ‘oddness’ of her behavior during took nothing away from the happiness that she projected throughout. More happiness for her (and for him) couldn’t be a bad thing—not unless Helena’s definition of the word was wrong.

And adults could never be wrong.

“Okay, if you say so.” responding without delay, both acceptance and confidence could now be heard in his voice. “So I just gotta decide on something to do with you, right? Something fun?”

More enthused than she had been in days, Helena’s smile widened far enough to expose the tip of her right incisor to Cruz’s line of sight. 

Day by day, she was making an impact. So long as she continued pulling her helpful little neighbor along, he would grow to become someone aware of what she was---what all SEPH like her were.

This by itself was reason enough for her to smile.

“Mhm! Anything you want; no matter how much or how awful.”

These words rendered Cruz as a ‘kid in a candy story’. Not yet at an age suitable for taking advantage of his position, the opportunity saw him silently wrack his mind for an appropriate ‘activity’ for the two of them. No shortage of memories concerning the ‘use’ that Helena had in mind existed within his head. At a moment’s notice, the only difficult part about the exercise was selecting one that he enjoyed over the others.

Fortunately, this too was a skill that the boy had honed in his time visiting Helena. Within a half-minute or so, his mind was made up and his lips were primed for speech.

“Oh, I know! We could do that again, couldn’t we?” he suggested. “ I’ll be able to cum way more that way, and it’s usually tires you out pretty quick, too!”

Intimately familiar with the ‘that’ that the boy had mentioned, Helena could not help but smile and giggle as the base degenerate that she was at heart.

“Of course, sweetie ♥. We can do that as much as you want.”

“Just remember: no stopping. No matter what I say or do, don’t stop until you’re satisfied.” 

Now, Cruz no longer needed to stop and think about whether or not his response was appropriate. Whilst thinking up the act and its potential consequences, stopping had never crossed his mind to begin with…

-

**LEARNT HABIT**

Helena’s offering Cruz any sex act of his choosing was not an empty promise meant to coax the boy into participation. Prior to uttering these words, she mentally committed herself to doing anything and everything that the boy suggested so long as he could will himself to demand it of her. She vowed to forgo all forms of complaint, and in doing so further committed herself to the yearnings of her own inner voice. 

Thus, when Cruz stated his desire to fuck out as many loads of semen as possible into her greasy asshole while watching her breastfeed her youngest children, she produced a simple “Yes, Cruz ♥.” and snapped to the task of making his desires a reality. 

Much to her surprise, little work was actually required of her by Cruz where this was concerned. Seemingly galvanized by her reassurance that the gross abuse that she craved was good for her, he took every opportunity that he could to lead proceedings in the direction that ‘he’ had chosen.

First and foremost, he took Helena’s hand and began leading her along. After briefly doubling back into the kitchen to collect an item necessary for his intent, he hurriedly dragged her from the first floor of the house back up to the second. Skipping their shared bedroom amidst the numerous doorways to either side of the corridor, he instead halted their progression ahead of the door directly beside it. 

Behind this door was the bedroom shared by her children. All three of the females housed within this room had not yet developed past the toddler years of an average SEPH* (see chapter #2 foreword). Rightly, the room’s interior was appropriately ‘child-friendly’. Much of its square floor space was consumed by toys, and all but one of its sides (save the one that the door was built into) had a crib nestled up against it.

Inside, Cruz proudly explained his rationale for the room’s use despite the obedient silence put forth by the adult ‘animal’ following behind it.

“You can be close to all three of them this way, so here is probably best. Also, all three of ‘em will get to see what a disgusting fuckhole you are for human cock you are while they aren’t eating. Pretty smart, right?”

Helena, though obscenely pleased with the boy’s thought process, tempered her response in the interest of feeding her insides the sensation of his cock sooner rather than later. 

For her, maternal guilt did not exist. Though happy to give birth to children for Cruz’s sake, she considered the daughters she had produced as extensions of herself, and by proxy, valueless tarts who would one day make it more difficult for her to derive fulfillment from the boy that she had found.

In her mind, her sole responsibility to them was educating them as to what they were—a task very easily accomplished whilst getting her asshole messily cratered within earshot of them.

Motivated by this mindset, the adult SEPH shaped her response to Cruz’s explanation with only herself in mind. First applauding his efforts with the slightest peck of her lips against his cheek, she afterwards prodded him along as best she could without violating her own warped ‘principles’ regarding his growth.

“You’re such a wonderful trainer, Cruz ♥. I was hoping you’d suggest something like this, but I really thought it was just the greedy fucking jizz-toilet in me talking. Hearing that we were thinking so similarly makes me very happy as your bitch…”

With this, she released his hand, and naturally sauntered through the room in such a way that set the gratuitous fat plugged into her round asscheeks into a mouth-watering jiggle. Stopping opposite the last crib off to their left, she leaned over its rim ever so slightly and reached into it with her free hand to scoop out the sleeping toddler that it contained. Bringing the girl right up to her other exposed teat, the rest of her work was done for her. At a moment’s notice, a wet and warm mouth consumed the swollen girth of her nipple and began sucking down the milk welled within its ducts.

  
Finally, she turned towards Helena and smiled. She didn’t speak—she simply smiled and stared at the boy in anticipation of what he might do or say next.

Yet again, the disillusioned boy failed to disappoint. After discarded the fresh to fucking death trackies that only parents of the youngest jock’s cop and exposing the growing sledge of phallus flesh hidden underneath them, he moved right up to her front. Reaching up with his dominant hand whilst elevating his frame on his tip-toes, he collected a handful of the older woman’s pink hair and purposed it as a handle with which to drag her frame down to the ground.

In this, no concessions were made for the children braced against her breasts. Opting to operate under the assumption that Helena would manage this, Cruz roughly pulled the woman back-first onto the floor with only the ‘coaxing’ of his hands grasp of her hair.

This done, he moved to her lower half. ‘Necessary item’ still in hand, he hoisted the SEPH’S naked lower body up and off the ground just short of bending her frame in half at her midsection.

Finally, he engaged himself. The nozzle of the item grasped within his palm came off, and a grin of perverse anticipation spread across his lips…

A grin meant solely for the woman beneath him.

-

CHILDREN

Taken by itself, the discomfort that Cruz sometimes displayed whilst participating in sex acts with his aunt seemed to suggest that the boy had a lack of experience with regards to his own satiation. His age and demeanor reinforced this idea, as did the perceived ‘norms’ that were associated his youth.

However, what appears to be apparent is not always that which is apparent. If any of those willing to describe the boy as an ‘unfortunate victim’ were ever to lay eyes on his dragging Helena to the floor and hiking her hips off of the ground with his hands, their stances towards his youth would be forced to change. Similarly, were any of them to watch the boy spread the older woman’s legs apart and intentionally expose the puffy exterior of her sphincter to his line of sight, all claims that marked him with a ‘lack of experience’ would lose their backing.

Cruz himself was both indifferent and unaware of the way he looked whilst manipulating the breast-feeding mother’s body. His only concern whilst producing the acts was preparing the hole he had chosen for use (as was his responsibility as a trainer). Not even when raising the spout of a clear bottle of lubrication up to the exterior of Helena’s asshole did it appear that the boy was perturbed by what he was doing.

If the effortful compression of his tongue against the left corner of his lip was any indication, he was already all-too comfortable with it.

“Alrighty, now the only thing left to do is…”

  
“This!”

Narrating his preparation to act, Cruz squeezed both of his hands in against the mid-section of a plastic squeeze bottle. Locking his wrists throughout, he in doing so aimed a consistent drizzle of clear, jelly-dense lubrication at the plumped and rosy meat of Helena’s sphincter. 

Satisfaction found him only after the pool of slime caked atop Helena’s shithole grew large enough to send several meaty strands of the substance drooling backwards and downwards across the flesh of her buttocks. At this, he discarded the bottle and braced his meager palm-spans against the squishy curvature at the peak of Helena’s hips.

The footsteps that he took after the fact—steps that set his feet to either side of the older woman’s midsection and inched his crotch over to an imposing hang over top her exposed cockjuice dumpsters—left the ‘purpose’ behind these gestures as unambiguous.

Nevertheless, the greedy sexual excitement that swelled within Cruz’s chest demanded that he make his intent clear all the same. 

“Your asshole is gonna drink down all of my cock juice, you stupid pig!” Cruz chirped, enthusiastically. 

According to Helena, statements such as these were good for SEPH. Not only did they remind them of their place, but it also ensured that there was no ambiguity in the expectations set for them. 

Despite recalling these facts precisely as they had been stated, Cruz remained incapable of understanding what was meant by this. Where his unadulterated use of her body was concerned, what he could understand was limited to sensations and reactions. As such, the boy remained uncertain as to whether or not he had acted correctly right up until he swung the softball-sized bloat of his glans into a gooey, splattering-inducing punch down against the greased exterior of her sphincter. At this, the sloppy, noose-tight pressure exerted by the puffy entrance way and the spongy large intestine behind it threaded a stent of pleasure straight up the boy’s spine. Simultaneously, his position above Helena granted him a front row seat to the crossing of her eyes, and the lustful depression of her right fang into her lower lip. Had he done wrong, such a stupidly sex-drunk expression would never have spread across her face.

Were it the case that Cruz had ears for something that wasn’t the meaty *GLORP* of his grotesquely-vascular erection into the flesh-mire of Helena’s asshole, watching her facial features wouldn’t have been necessary to begin with. Just as soon as the pulsing bulk of his cock forced the puffy (and undoubtedly sensitive) meat of her sphincter to spread, suckle, and finally ‘throat’ the inches of his erection, debased praise burst from her bit lips in excess.

“Mnngh, f-fuck, j-just like t-that♥♥! Gore my stupid fucking pig s-shithole with your cock! Use my guts a-as a twitchy toilet f-for your cock juiceeee♥!”

Cruz heard these outbursts, but failed to attend to them or understand them.

Elated at his successes all the same, he followed up the disappearance of nearly half of his erection into his ‘sow’s’ asshole with a downward dip of his torso, and a grease-slogged unplugging of his erection from her depths. Hooking glistening inches of the unwashed pipe from her guts’ grasp along a backwards angled curve, he subsequently plunged these and several more straight back down into the pliant cocksleeve with the same inward flick that he had produced prior. Having unknowingly thrown the weight of his lower body behind both of the motions, neither of one felt particularly difficult to him. If anything, they were fun; where he ought to have felt strain and exertion, the grind of congealed, lubricant-greased intestine flesh around his painfully engorged length held pleasure at the forefront of his mind. As prone to preoccupation with ‘fun’ as any other child, it was not long before his hips and crotch began working in tandem to see this massive fractions of his cock floored in and out of Helena’s grease-caked shithole at an alarming rate.

Not surprisingly, Cruz’s slippage into a brutally effective pump-fucking of her intestines was precisely the sort of treatment Helena had hoped for.

Now, more so than she had whilst skewering herself on the boy’s cock or gorging herself on the reeking sludge so often churned up by his nuts, did she feel like what she was. With each passing second, the musk-drenched log of flesh that she so adored was stuffed closer and closer to an outright hilt within her tautest and thickest hole. No care was taken in keeping its penetration well-paced, nor was any concern extended to her as the drooling fuckehole’s owner. The increasingly lengthy crescents of flesh made to bulge and contort at her middle by Cruz’s cock went entirely ignored by the youth, as did the vehement spewage of cunt-syrup from her unused lower lips up (and consequently back down against her own crotch). Through and through, she was being used—as though she truly was a living breathing baby-factory meant solely to be used and discarded.

On top of the pleasure that she derived from being used as a means to an end, she enjoyed the same mind-rotting pleasure that had once domesticated her entire species. Every breath that she took underneath Cruz was a breath soaked in the abhorrently youthful stench of a human. Her having inhaled it countless other times had yet to take the ‘edge’ off of the experience, and this instance of it was no different.

Under the influence of this stench, everything to do with the gutting of her asshole became that much more stimulating for her. The pressurized discharge of precum and lubrication from the corners of her sphincter as he depressed himself were to her miniature orgasms snuffed out in their prime by the length of Cruz’s cock. The subsequent twitching and shifting of the tendril-length, finger-thick veins drawn and coiled along his shaft’s exterior were perceived by her innards as the writhing of live serpents atop a baseball bat’s worth of cockflesh. When his meat was hooked back through her oozing hole following any one of these depressions, she could not help but feel as though her insides were being pulled out of her alongside it. 

Cycled over and over again at the speed of a chugging piston, acclimating to the sensations was impossible. In the face of Cruz’s aggression, Helena could only groan and squeal like a lactating sow as corrosive bursts of pleasure continually ate away at her psyche.

Despite this, Helena did not use the limiting of her expressions as an excuse for complete incoherence. Keeping her mouth shut as addictive bliss was fucked into her was not an activity that she cared much for in the first place. Further, silence served no purpose in her current situation…

She had suckling-children that she needed to instruct.

“M-Mommy’s—a-asshole’sh—g-gettin’—f-fucked—girl’sh♥..” piping up in the midst of an aggressive stint of thrusting from Cruz, Helena addressed the infants tugging milk from her breasts without so much as glancing towards them. 

“She’sh-gettin’ F-FU—GYUUUGHHH♥♥”

Keeping pace with Cruz’s thrusts at all times was impossible for her. Though she tried her best, prolonged and unintelligible squeals regularly invaded her utterance prior to its completion.

“She’sh getting’ f-fucked like the u-useless human j-jizz dumpster, s-she is, s-see? Y-You’re gonna do th’ s-same too someday, understand? Y-You’re gonna be th’ same useless cock toilets when you grow up~! Everything in your worthless little lives is g-gonna lead up to this!”

Neither of the children suckling from Helena’s breasts were capable of comprehending the noise that spilled from her maw. Indifferent to this fact and much more deeply invested in the satisfaction that she derived from producing the words themselves, Helena produced these utterances and others like them in response to Cruz’s churning of her insides as often as she could. Not solely for the sake of her children’s education, but because doing so felt too good to resist.

Funnily enough, the child who took the most away from the nasally exhalations wasn’t even her own. Not quite so ‘lost’ in the sensations being blended around his cock, Cruz understood Helena’s cooing as further signage that he was using her correctly. Whilst under the influence of a slime-greased asshole that sucked vigorously to his erection each time he spiked himself into it, this fact meant quite a bit to the youth. So much so, in fact, that making her squeal out more became his sole intent not long after the fact.

Experience had taught him that accomplishing such a thing would not be a very difficult task. It was the same ‘experience’ that had suggested he squat above Helena’s up-drawn lower body and thrust downward into her cunt as opposed to levelling it and thrusting inwards. Without uttering a word, it had also convinced him to drive himself in and out of her asshole’s squirting confines as rapidly and aggressively as his frame could manage.

Thus, when again he petitioned it for a ‘means’ with which to obtain what he desired, he adhered to its suggestion without question.

Suddenly, the half-lengths strokes that had seen half the full length of his member slotted in and out of Helena’s gaped shithole were compressed down to an inches-long stir. Instead of yanking his member back through her asshole as deeply as he had inserted it, he exchanged a masturbatory tugging of his shaft back through the squeaking sinkhole for a seamless thumping of its bulk against the very deepest reaches of her large intestines. Shortly, he took the stimulation that had once been applied to the trunk of his shaft and funneled all of it towards its topmost inches. 

Like all of the other suggestions made by his ‘experience’, Cruz’s following through with the change reaped immediate benefits with regards to his desires. Shortening his thrusts in this way took full advantage of the bestial squat he had set himself into above Helena’s crotch. The body weight that his previous pattern had swung back and forth in time with his thrusts immediately became the sole compliment of his cock’s depressions into Helena’s guts. Much like a hammer-head against a nail, his lower body repeatedly pounded the beginnings of his cock through the tightest and stickiest stretches of intestine flesh that it could reach, then tented it up into a curved ‘enveloping’ with the flesh of her midsection.

The convulsive rejection put forward by these yet-fucked inches was all that Cruz needed to perceive a difference. As his cock was hardly withdrawn from them per thrust, the entirety of his glans and the swollen inches of cockmeat beneath it were squeezed and shuffled through one pulverizing hilt after another with hardly a break in-between.

And then there was the noise. Whereas the length of his thrusts had once elicited a guttural an unpredictable chain of *GLRPT*, *SPLRT*, and *SQULECH* noise timed to splatter-patterned displacement of lubrication from her guts, they now produced a consistent *GRLP-GLRP-GRLP* indicative of a glutted—but far less explosive—funneling of cockmeat through an enflamed and congealed hole.

For another youth, perhaps like the worn child that had been sprawled out across Helena’s bed more than a day prior, pleasure such as this would’ve been nearly intolerable.

For Cruz as he was presently, it was motivation for him to succeed in making Helena present herself as the bitch that she claimed to be. A very uncomfortable and addictive motivation, but motivation all the same. 

In it was everything that he needed to squeeze his balls dry within her guts and more—even the inhuman grit necessary to endure the gooey pressure that continued to intensified at the base of his cock.

After focusing himself on it, his tiny frame endured several minutes of close-ranged cock-hilting and innumerable compressions of his testicles against the sex-greased exterior of Helena’s sphincter before giving out.

When it did, a spectacle was made out of the event. All of Cruz’s body weight was floored (and held) downward into a final, stomach-rending plunge of cock through intestine flesh, and a grin ill-suited for the childish face spread across his lips for all to see...

-

**LOSS OF HOPE**

For both Cruz and Helena, the eruption of seed from the tip of his cock represented a reward. The former was rewarded with the siphoning of cock juice from his testicles, and the latter with the knowledge that, if nothing else, serving the purpose of a fleshlight or semen dumpster was not yet beyond her.

What Helena’s release truly was went unchanged by their perception of it. In truth, a little boy had fucked an adult SEPH’s insides until his overactive erection saw fit to clog her intestines full of fresh cock juice. From another perspective, an adult caregiver had sweetly manipulated an innocent child into fulfilling her degenerate desires for the umpteenth time.

Neither Cruz nor name were aware of these truths, and had it been the case that they were, its unsavoriness would not stopped them. Their rewards felt too good, and the alternative of forgoing them in spite of all they had sacrificed to attain them would have seemed unfair.

So they indulged. Following the final slotting of Cruz’s erection into Helena’s asshole, the pair ‘bought-in’ yet again. Cruz, though physically spent and taxed by another outbreak of debilitating euphoria, did his utmost to savor the urethra-engorging surge of cock juice through his member. Similarly, Helena ‘overcame’ her sexual debilitation solely for the purpose of giving the boy above her a more satisfying release.

Just as they always did, the pair’s mixed efforts paid dividends. After a chunked blurt of mildly discolored jelly-paste leap from the tip of Cruz’s member into contact with the depths of Helena’s intestines, voluminous strands of the same eerily chewable substance wriggled their way through the boy’s member one after another. Each as lengthy as a poorly-cooked noodle and as wide as a human thumb, their streaky layering across the span of gutmeat set ahead of Cruz’s cock quickly became a sordid ‘filling’ of the organ section’s interior. From a foundation built on a half-dozen streaks of off-white, flesh-obscuring glut, their second-by second compilation began to contribute to the creation of a single rancid body of nut within Helena’s depths.

From its formation onward, it grew. In his time fucking Helena, the volume of semen welled within the root of Cruz’s erection had grown to a point of excess that even the bottomless thirst of her asshole had to consider. A half minute of the greasy seed strands basting, then fattening a fraction of her intestines into a semen-packed sausage was only the beginning. Thereafter, the strenuous discharges served only to elongate and engorge the mass until its size demanded a response from Helena’s body.

At first, the SEPH’s guts had dealt with the task thrust upon them amicably. The hooked compression of Cruz’s cocktip up through the especially well-fucked pocket of intestine meat ahead of it hadn’t made the discharge of seed into their depths any more difficult, and the substance’s congealed coalescence within them—much like melted cheese within a pliant sock—had yet to stop them from happily sucking down every drop.

Soon enough, though, something changed. Shot by horrendously glutted shot, the cock juice dumped inside her demanded more from her frame. As the caking of her intestines became a swamp-like inundation of its length, a sloshing, jizz-fed bloat appeared at her stomach to reflect this. Thus far dominated by the pipe of cockmeat still throbbing and squirting underneath the tented flesh of her abdominals, the continued outflow of nut from Cruz’s balls soon saw his cock bulge matched, then utterly exceeded by semen-bloated stomach flesh.

It was around this point in time—the transition between her asshole’s gorging itself on the Cruz’s nutrient-packed ball juice and the hole being forced-fed the substance that—Helena lost the will to hold onto any part of reality.

The first thing that went was her perception of her children. Even when Cruz’s rutting had stressed her into a fresh nosebleed, both of her hands had maintained a loose huddle of their tiny frames up against the leaking teats at her chest. Now, dogged by the same throbbing pleasure of being fucked and the animalistic satisfaction of ‘usage’ that had been bred into her species, no mental resources remained for her to pay any mind to the tots. Her grasps on their backs slackened in sequence, then completely abandoned the pair into a harmless plop onto the ground opposite her chest.

Next, she began to celebrate. Consumed by a feral bliss deemed far too degenerative for her kind as a whole, her fractured mind cobbled its functioning pieces together into something capable of speech.

The words that left her lips were the furthest thing from appropriate.

“H-Human cock juice is filling me up. A little human boy’s smelly cock juice is swelling my asshole like a used up fleshlight…♥.” coherent if hoarse, she produced these utterances more so to herself than the tooth-grit boy above her. “T-This is b-better’thn e-everything. B-Bein’ a stupid m-meat-toilet for human cock’sh th’ best♥.”

“E-Every useless p-pig in th’ world deserves t-this. We d-don’t deserve anythin’ else—w-we’re just fleshlights’n b-babymakers for people that have v-value…”

Though happily deranged in their enunciation, conviction remained apparent in her words. It was not as though the fucking and seeding provided by her trainer had pushed the slurred sentences across her tongue as a result of her stupor. She was merely reiterating facts that her experience had made to shine truer and brighter than they had before.

Coaxed by the warmth of their light, she continued to deny the world around her. Alarmingly privy to the limits of her position, her cobbled psyche flicked her eyes down to gaze at the boy above her and willed her lips to speak to him.

“T-That’s the way that i-it should be, right, C-Cruz?” suggested, lidded eyes searching the boy’s features for emotions. “ Fucking animals like me d-don’t deserve anything m-more than this. T-That’s why you fucked my asshole like this, isn’t it? You wanted to make my useless sow guts s-suck out all of your baby juice regardless of what it would do to me…”

Still very much entranced by the latter stages of his release, Cruz did not respond to the SEPH’s questions with words. As she produced them, his mind remained focused on the same two tasks that had motivated him to this point: making use of Helena for her own sake and enjoying himself whilst doing it.

With these in mind, words could never suffice as his response to her. Instead, he braced his trembling palms more tightly against her hip curvature, and pushed his still-growing legs from out of their taxing squat. Together, these acts saw to a slow and semen-mired extraction of hic cock from out of Helena’s convulsing shithole. For every inch extracted, a muddy burble of discolored cock juice rose to many a *BLURP* inducing discharge from the edges of her fattened sphincter (the foremost of which lewdly drenched the face of Helena’s cunt with a clotted back draft of nut).

As soon as his length was free from the cratered hole, Cruz stepped forward and squatted again. Here, he braced his dominant hand into a partial compression of his cock’s midsection and began stroking at the region to see every strand of semen still packed within his balls messily yoked out against Helena’s face. In doing so, pudgy streaks of nut were drawn across both of her eyes and a single, cheek-spanning dollop was dumped onto her features well before his release was through.

Panting sharply throughout the effort, it was plain to see that a great deal of effort was required for the boy to produce this response whilst on his feet. 

And yet, he managed it. Without protesting difficulty or allowing his fatigue to factor into his actions, he drained his balls at Helena’s expense, and completed the act by ‘cleaning’ the tip of his member off into the brightly colored hair hanging from her forehead.

Helena, as if to reward the effort, responded to this treatment with a smile so affectionate that, if only for a moment, the sex-smeared state of her features could be overlooked.

“S-Such a good boy. You understand e-everything, don’t you?” she suggested, happily. “J-Just like always, I-I want you to remember that feeling, o-okay? R-Remember what it feels like t-to use SEPH as t-they were meant t-to be, and r-remember h-how happy it makes me…”

“No matter what anyone says, no matter w-what anyone thinks—t-this is the truth. E-Every SEPH, no—every **worthless b-bitch** in the world would be happier like this than they would be as anything else…”

“I…promise…♥.”

Cruz heard did not hear these words as the sweetly toned babbling of a woman too unhinged to truly know what she was doing. Whilst staring at a semen-plastered face and bleeding nostril, what he perceived was the truth: one gifted to him by a woman with only his best interests at heart.

Repeated endlessly throughout his time with the woman, this iteration was hardly a stunning revelation for him. It was merely a nail—one of a countless many driven into his mind to keep Helena’s truth rooted to his core.

There this truth would remain until another displaced it…

_If_ another replaced it.


	7. Fatherhood

_“Dad, omigosh, why didn’t you answer any of my texts? I’ve been trying to reach you all day!”_

_“Tch, whatever, I’ll just tell you now. Cruz and his family are going to Alola for part of the summer and they invited me n’Aya. I, uh, already kinda agreed, so we can go, right? Aya’s old enough by now, and if it makes a difference, I promise I’ll keep an eye on her when we’re out.”_

_“It’ll be totally safe! It’d be rude to turn them down with how much Cruz is always doing for us.”_

_“Pretty please?”_

Arthur Selvi was the last member of his family to learn of what was to be his daughters’ first vacation outside of the country. He could very well have been the first or second, but a combination of extended hours at his job and his entrapment within a numbing complacency diverted him from the information until his eldest daughter shoved it into his face.

In his complacency, time had become transient. Months had become years; the summer of Suya’s (and Cruz’s) final year of middle school had arrived, and Aya would soon be taking her first steps into the private academy that he and Kaona had picked out to best suit her talents.

His little girls had aged—gracefully and significantly. Why a sudden request for independence had been required for him to recognize as much was a question that the pre-occupied Ralts couldn’t answer. All the same, Suya’s request pulled him just far enough out of the confines of his mind for him to both accept, and act on the subject as the man who had raised her.

The first question that he posed was ‘why’. Cruz’s father had done as well for himself as he had, but such a sudden and significant reciprocation of generosity struck him as odd. It was certainly true that Cruz, Aya, and Suya got along with one another better than actual siblings did, but again, this did not warrant them spending such a long period away from home without adult supervision.

Suya response to this question was simple and irrefutable.

_“You only graduate once, right? Cruz’s parents said they wanted us to do something special before we end up getting old and drifting apart or somethin’. I don’t think that’ll happen, but it is true that we’re probably going to have less time to be together like when we were kids.”_

_“That’s why I really want to go. Actually, you know what—Aya! Dad doesn’t want to let us go; can you come in here and help me explain how important it is?”_

Arthur had been young once. His recollection of the years he had spent as an adolescent was not particularly pleasant—this being because these years had in fact been particularly _unpleasant_. Still, given what they had culminated in and what had come after them, he harbored no regrets as to their contents.

More so than their enjoyment, Arthur desired the same for Cruz and his daughters: a future without past regrets. They were, after all, getting older. The odds of their doing something…regrettable with one another were slim, but the intimacy that Aya and Suya often directed towards Cruz worried him.

Of course Cruz could be trusted…of course he could. If anything, it was his daughters’ integrity that he doubted.

Like his last concern before it, this one was rebutted just as deftly.

_“You don’t have to worry, Daddy; I’ll make sure Cruz and Suya don’t do anything weird. Galar is quite safe relative to the other regions, too. As long as we’re together, nothing bad will happen.”_

_“It’ll just be a fun thing for us to look back on when we’ve gotten too busy for vacations. Won’t you please let us have something like that?”_

Denying Aya’s face (and reason) had never been an easy task for Arthur. Today, though, he was not even granted enough leeway to consider doing so.

Practical as ever, Aya’s made her entrance into the conversation with the knowledge that reinforcements were not far behind.

_“I think they should go, dear. I won’t say that I don’t have my concerns about the whole thing, but I’ve spoken with Cruz’s father already and it seems like what they have planned is about as normal as it gets.”_

_“It’s hard, but I think…I think this is one of those things we have to accept as parents. They’ll always be our little girls, but as far as the rest of the world is concerned, they’ll be adults before we know it. Cruz, too.”_

“We have to respect that. Otherwise, we’re no better as adults than the people who raised us.”

Though the loosest of the arguments presented, Kaona’s suggestion hit Arthur the hardest. She knew just as much about the abject traditionalism of their ancestors as he did—what it granted, and what it took away. Even if it were not the case that he was incapable of denying the larger woman her wants, this fact alone made her argument worth sympathizing with.

And so, his hour of resistance ended with relent. To the differently girlish celebration of his daughters and an approving and endearing smile from his wife, Arthur consented to his daughter’s vacation…

This without once speaking to the young man who was to be at its center.

No expense was spared in his doing so, either. It was confirmed by Cruz’s parents that all of the expenses that the trio incurred on the trip would be covered on their end. Nevertheless, Arthur spent the pair of weeks leading up to their departure outfitting his girls with all of the swimsuits and spending money that they would need to have an enjoyable time with one another.

Not one of these things was done from out of the goodness of his heart. Unbeknownst to even him, his motivation for doing so was a desire to spare himself from something unpleasant. He refused to entertain thoughts as to exactly what, but this did not make the steps that he took towards doing so any less ‘grand’.

For a time, his fervor seemed purposeful. The days leading up to Aya and Suya’s departure were among the happiest that he could recall—and truth be told, most all of his days with them were happy. Following their departure, the haze that had numbed him went abated long enough for him to recognize that Kaona seemed happier with him than usual. All signs pointed to his decision being the right one.

A month later—days after Aya and Suya were set to return—reality reminded him that his life was not capable of maintaining such idyllic comforts.

One morning, Kaona stated a desire to have a discussion with him—one that surrounded their daughters’ futures. Innocuous a subject as it seemed, she even went as far as scheduling a time for them to engage one another thoroughly and privately.

Despite his readily agreeing to the discussion and preparing for it, Kaona’s broaching of the subject burned Arthur with an unrelenting despair.

What he had wished to avoid had finally caught up with him. There could be no more excuses, nor efforts made to avoid it…

Only confrontation.

-

**THE SELVI HOUSEHOLD KITCHEN—45 DAYS AFTER AYA AND SUYA’S DEPARTURE**

_Do not meet your wife. Do anything but this—leave if you have to._

_Find an excuse. Keep putting it off until you can’t anymore. If you value yourself at all, what you’ve cherished and accomplished, you’ll find a way not to do this._

_If you can’t, you’ve already failed._

Mid-stride through the tiled width of his kitchen, words spoken by Arthur Selvi’s heart dragged his mind into a state of non-function.

It was inexplicable. Without a moment’s notice, the familiar discomfort that grated at him each time he was required to have an ‘adult discussion’ with his wife was replaced by a debilitating terror. Sweat burst from the pores of his milky-white frame, and, as if chilled down to the constituent fibers that composed their musculature, his limbs began to shake. 

But why?

Frantic, he posed this question to himself over and over again whilst the thudding wriggle of his heartbeat threatened to deafen him to the words that comprised it. Every mental resource still available to his petrified consciousness was poured into deriving an answer, but with time, it became apparent that nothing would come of the effort.

Arthur Selvi desired an answer, but as it turned out, his id refused to subject itself to generating one.

In lieu of an explanation, allowing these symptoms to delay him was inexcusable. In time, they were sure to subside; at worst, he could see to them after he attended to his wife’s concerns. As a man, and more importantly, as a husband, the fulfillment of his responsibilities had to come before the management of his inadequacy and frailty.

If it didn’t, his ‘right’ to his family would disappear.

Emboldened by his conclusion, he continued onward. Reigning his musculature in one painful contraction at a time, he cleared the steps that separated him from the living room’s side entrance and reduced his terrified shaking to a mild tremble.

  
What effort he expended in this did not go unrewarded. A single step into the living room suggested that the fear and discomfort he had felt was a coincidence. Not a cushion was out of place within the modest expanse, nor was anyone present within it that ought not have been.

As expected, the only person present was Kaona. Seated quaintly up against the sofa corner opposite to one ahead of him with hands convened at her lap, the statuesque Gardevoir reacted to his entrance with a shift of her profile towards his own, and a smile whose warmth was liable to leave a man weak at the knees.

Mere seconds into basking into the glow of his wife’s face and posture, Kaona’s smile melted into an expression of venomously-tinged warmth. Simultaneously, she raised her left hand and gently patted at the couch space directly beside her.

Seeing these, what was to come next played out within his head well before it actually occurred.

And so, his sweating and trembling began anew.

“Hello, dear. You should sit—we’ll both be more comfortable that way.” Kaona offered, sweetly. “Oh, but you’re shaking. You’re not _afraid_ of your wife, are you? Hehe.”

Equal parts fearful and disarmed, Arthur did not respond to her question. Instead, he simply adhered to the request that she had stated prior to it. At the behest of his innards, he dragged his frame from the left side of living room up through a sluggish trudge-and-hoist of his frame up to the couch position that she had marked for him.

  
Well used to the glaring disparity between their body sizes, he did not pause to acknowledge it. As soon as his child-sized spine was aligned with the couch cushioning behind it, he turned his gaze towards Kaona and shook his head.

“Haha,o-of course not.” he replied, voice strained by discomfort. “I’ll tell you as many times as it takes, Kaona: the way you look doesn’t matter to me. A-As long as your happy and healthy, you could end up Mega-Evolving one day and I’d still find you to be just as cute as you were the day we met.”

Arthur’s words were not platitudes spewed from his throat in an attempt at saving face. Where Kaona was concerned, they were the truth--no matter the extent to which his body disagreed with them. Nevertheless, rather than producing a bashful giggle in response to them or turning her pale features away from his own to hide a mild blush, Kaona met her husband’s adoration with a teasing amusement. The infected warmth in her facial expression grew hotter, and her ‘interest’ in Arthur’s presence grew more physical.

As if to offset their intensification, the larger woman only responded to her husband after sliding closer to his seated position and ‘affectionately’ draping one of her mint green arms around his front from behind, and leaning into his frame from the right in a display of intimacy.

“You always know just what to say to a girl, don’t you, sweetie? I really am _so lucky_ to have ended up marrying you…” giggling sultrily throughout the utterance, she made certain that her gaze was slanted down into a disarming stare at her husband at all times. “What you said actually leads into what I’ve been wanting to talk about as well.”

This time, it was a combination of fear and arousal that delayed Arthur’s response. Though superior to his own, Kaona’s body offered everything that a man could ask for. The weight and warmth of the breast flesh that bared down on his skull from the right made the overripe watermelon of flesh seem capable of consuming him if only its owner wished to. As combined with the comfortable squishiness of her clothed obliques and the gross excess of pheromones that leaked from her frame, avoiding an erection became impossible.

“O-Oh yeah?” speaking without slanting his features up towards Kaona, Arthur did his utmost to remain coherent despite his arousal. “How so? Y-You know I love those two in exactly the same way.”

“I’m not worried about **that** , Arthur.” Kaona snapped. “I’m worried about our daughters’ futures. There’s still a little bit of time left with Aya, but the fact is that they’re both getting to the ages that we were when we got married.”

“And? T-They’re still our little girls, aren’t they? T-There’s more than enough time for them to f-finish growing before that. Things aren’t…w-well, they aren’t the same as they were when we were young. They might just end up solving that problem for us, rig—“

In the blink of an eye, what subterfuge remained in Kaona’s presence and posture disappeared. She did not move an inch, nor did the smile on her face shorten or sharpen as if to imply displeasure.

But it was no longer there. Of this much Arthur was certain.

“No. That’s not good enough.” Interjecting flatly, Kaona did not allow her husband to utter another word past this point. “I was worried that you might have such a naïve perspective on this, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Our daughters need more from us than a watchful eye—we have to make sure that they have futures better than ours.”

“Or…” briefly, Kaona became distance. For a period just long enough to draw her husband’s eye, her line of sight shifted away from him, and her mind seemed to wander elsewhere. To a place far enough away that a man of his stature could never hope to reach it.

_“Better than the one I had at least.”_ Kaona muttered.

Though produced as a thin exhalation, Arthur heard these words loud and Clear. But, like all of the other whispered grievances Kaona had produced, his mind chose to ignore it.

His wife loved him; anything that suggested otherwise wasn’t something that he needed to pay attention to.

Like this, a stage was for Kaona to continue speaking.

“Anyway! It’s no problem, sweetie. I knew that things would end up this way, so I went ahead and figured out a solution myself.” returned from her brief disappearance, the hollow warmth that she had presented began billowing from her frame two fold. “I hope you aren’t upset—but it really is for the best—we’re all that they have, after all.”

Arthur could not help but to agree with his wife’s reasoning. A panicked confusion consumed his features at the mention of her ‘plans’, yet instead of bowing to it, he nodded in ginger agreement to her words as if they were for the best.

This too was something that Kaona had hoped for. As soon as she laid eyes on his ‘agreement’, the massive Gardevoir rose to her feet and made certain that her husband did so as well. Drawing the arm she had draped around his chest into a firm clasping of his left hand, she afterwards began leading the two of them out of the living room altogether.

As it turned out, the living room was only the first of the ‘destinations’ that she had planned for their conversation.

“…You must be wondering what I mean by that by now, right?” Kaona suggested, footsteps short enough for the child-sized-man at her side to keep pace. “If you are, you’ve played right into my hand again, dear ♥. There is no better way to explain something than to show someone how it works, so I brought this up with Aya and Suya a few days ago.”

“After I explained how important this was for their futures, they were both more than happy to set something up. That’s why you haven’t seen them since they got back; they’ve just been **so busy** getting ready to show you some examples of how they’d like to spend the rest of their lives!”

Though his mind was busy listening and his frame was busy walking, Arthur found himself with enough ‘sense of self’ to feel lament as opposed to surprise.

The voice within his heart had been right all along…

And still, he had still ignored it.

“…But yes, they’ve been preparing for hours now. Why don’t you open the door and have a look? It’s been so long since they’ve had a chance to surprise you, so I’m sure they must be dying to see you by now.”

These words wrenched Arthur from his stupor and forced his focus back onto reality. Whilst ruing his stupidity, Kaona had led the two of them from the interior of the living room up through to the main corridor of the second floor. In what seemed like no time at all, he had been brought to face a pale pink doorway whose appearance had been etched into his brain for nearly a decade.

It was the second door in the house he had painted without help—the one that belonged to his youngest daughter.

Far too intoxicated to consider what awaited him behind it, Arthur thoughtlessly obeyed Kaona for a second time. Pushing up onto the tips of his toeless feet, he raised both of his hands up into a conjoined grasp of the door knob ahead of him.

Then, he turned it.

Then, he pushed the face of the door inward.

And finally, after all of this, he sank to his knees and bled.

Faced with the room’s contents as they were, his worn frame was without an ‘alternative’ means of handling what sprawled out ahead of him.

Several feet into Aya’s humid, pheromone-drenched bedroom space were Aya and Suya in the flesh. Neither girl was as he remembered them the day that they had left for their ‘vacation’. Save for a matching set of black and whorishly under-cut (and fat-swallowed) undergarments, most all of their pale (and distinctly sweat-greased flesh) sat exposed to the open air. Both pairs comprised of pliant patches of half-palm-width cotton and embedded into the fertile fat of their frames by the daintiest of strings, the garments further accentuated the most ‘perverse’ aspects of their growth. Whereas the overfed bloat of Suya’s breasts resulted in a taut (and woefully insufficient) tenting of fabric atop the aloe-colored-swell of her equally-obese nipples, Aya’s framed her recently-fattened D-Cups such that the flesh surrounding her nipples seemed fuller and puffier.

Much more could be thought about the appearance of the girls’ frames, but Arthur’s mind refused to commit itself to the task. To begin with, their attire was not the most significant ‘difference’ that he recognized in them. Within seconds of his ogling, Arthur’s eyes were drawn to a pair of smooth and identically rounded protrusions at their stomachs.

“Stop fucking slacking you disgusting little brat! Either do a good job or get out of the way so I can!” barked Suya. “I’ll bet your kid is going to have the same shitty IVs you do. The least you can do is help Cruz get off properly while your body is before you have to dump her out.”

“…”

“You’re ignoring me, aren’t you? Fine—you can either listen to me or choke to death like the juvenile pig you are.”

Situated in a kneeling position directly behind her younger sister’s frame, Suya spoke these words whilst manipulating her dollish frame as a form of perverse puppet master. With her left hand, she applied a flat and fingerless pressure to the back of her head. With her right, she angled the fingerless limb’s tip into an invasive fishhooking of the little girl’s mouth.

As implied by her diatribe, the intent behind her efforts was an enhancement of the slovenly tot’s throating of their trainer’s erection. Aya’s efforts up to the point of her interjection were hardly lackluster, this apparent in the fact that Cruz had not involved himself in them. Nevertheless, Suya was of the opinion that Cruz deserved more stimulation than her baby sister’s cock-spread gullet could provide.

Her competitive instincts told her so—and they were always right.

Regrettably, her thoughts on the subject were irrelevant. For months, Cruz had worked to ingrain ‘cooperation’ into their very beings. Thus, no matter how much doing so grated on her or how much of a ‘better job’ she believed herself to be capable of, her sole ‘purpose’ in her current position was that of Aya’s aide.

At least until she caught sight of her father’s frame in the corner of her eye. With this, a second and far less trying task for her presented itself: showing the man who had fathered her what she intended to do with the rest of her life.

“There you are, Dad! You n’mom really took your time talking, huh?” Suya began, features curling away from her trainer’s crotch and over towards her father’s slumped frame. “Mom did say that she’d make sure you made it up here no matter what, but I was getting kinda worried! You’re a real baby when it comes to Aya and I. I was starting to think that the stuff she needed to say to you scarred you away or something.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, though. You might be a useless disappointment as a father, but at least you’re man enough to face the truth when someone shows it to you.”

Suya’s plucked another chord within Arthur’s chest, but by this point, the number of disarming experiences he endured no longer made a difference.

Nothing remained in him to disarm or disappointment.

“Anyhow, I don’t have to spell it out for you, right? Suya and decided a long time ago that our lives have the most value as braindead baby-factories for Cruz’s cock. We don’t want to be normal and we never have. If we could, we’d just go back in time, y’know? To the times where humans fucked useless tarts like us until we were of no use and just moved on to ones that were better.” Suya explained, warmly.

“Ah, but what am I even talking so much for? We decided that showing you was the only way to really make you understand, so just keep kneeling there like a loser and **watch**. We’ll make sure that you understand by the end of it, ‘kay?”

As promised, Suya wasted no further time with words. Straight after her utterance, her attention turned back towards her sister and trainer. Having pinned Suya’s lips at the root of Cruz’s cock—a position that imposed a skin-reddening engorgement of her neck with the young man’s oversized erection and drowned what little air she could pull in off of his crotch with the stench of semen—her first thought concerned whether or not her efforts had actually provided Cruz with more pleasure.

Intent on seeing the ‘difference’ for herself, she ceased her ruthless stamping of the back of Aya’s skull and dragged her mucus-clogged gullet back up along the grossly vascular exterior of Cruz’s erection until only his glans remained plugged between her lips. Indifferent to the copious regurgitations of throatslop and semen that burst from Aya’s nose and lips as she went (segmented flourishes of the milky white substance that left goopy splatters against Cruz’s crotch), the effort’s completion saw Suya’s gaze snap upward into an almost canine stare up at her trainer.

The face that she made was very nearly wholesome. Were it not for the blood leaking perpetually from her right nostril and the vapid emptiness hollowing out her irises, it may very well have passed as such.

“That was better, right Cruz? You liked the way I used Aya’s throat-meat better than the way she was using it, right?” Suya asked, tone desperate for a response that contained a form of approval. “ She’s gotten bigger, but I know it’s still not good enough for you. Pigs have to play nice with each other, so I really **really** want to help her reach her potential before she gives birth. That way, her daughter can have the best possible example of what it means to be a porcine fleshlight as she grows up ♥.”

Thus far the only individual completely detached from proceedings, Suya’s words worked an approving chuckle out from Cruz’s throat.

Disingenuity remained the foremost quality of Suya’s cooperation, but in the time that had passed since his imposing it, she had gotten much better at presenting it.

This, if nothing else deserved a reward.

“It still sounds to me that you think you’re a slab of meat better than your sister is, Suya.” replied Cruz. “She’s more than capable of working by herself, but yes, you did a very good job complimenting her.”

“Now if only you could do it without squabbling with her so mu—“

***GLRRPP!***

Cruz completed his utterance without abbreviation, but the sounds that accompanied it were overwhelmed by noise from another source. Upon perceiving the first hints of approval in Cruz’s voice, Suya drove her sister’s panting maw straight back down to a gut-wrenching kiss with his crotch. Hilted such that the fattened inner lining of her esophagus was made to stretch, then suckle to the grotesquely rugged exterior of his shaft within seconds of one another, Aya’s slobber-gutted hole produced a single, succinct squelching noise before quietly ‘reassuming’ its rightful state.

Contrastively, the silence heralded by her skull’s forced descent was short-lived.

As quickly as it settled, a consistent chain of *GULK-GLRP-GULRK* noises consumed the bedroom’s airspace with a livid and guttural symphony of sexual noise.

Suya was to blame for these noises. She did not produce them herself, but it was her vehement manipulation of her sister’s skull that saw the individual *links* to the slovenly chain fucked from the smaller Kirlia’s lips. Solely focused on the fact that her efforts had resulted in pleasure for her trainer, she took it upon herself to make use of Aya’s esophagus as an extension of herself. Indifferent to her sister’s physical condition and the fact that she had only recently caught her breath after being pinned ball’s deep at the root of his shaft, she began wrenching and skewering her lips up and down the bulk of his shaft.

Like this, the pleasure that had earned her ‘praise’ in the first place could be replicated. Suya was no expert as to the inner workings of her sister’s frame, but the ‘connection’ that the two shared on occasion provided her with a ‘good enough’ understanding of how to best use her insides as a fleshlight. Whilst enflamed, the squishy compactness of her esophagus became a cock-milking vicegrip whose tautness made for haggard and sluggish strokes of its expanse along Cruz’s girth (specifically in cases where Aya was required to drag her throatmeat herself). If manipulated as a tool by someone with more physical strength than her, this ‘barrier’ could be overcome, and the convulsing sleeve’s qualities could be ground from Cruz’s cock root to its tip within seconds of one another.

Selfishly, Suya imagined that yanking and dunking his sister’s face in this manner offered a brand of stimulation more comparable to what she herself could provide. Per depression of Aya’s lips, the squirming finger-tendril blood vessels coiled and threaded about the exterior of Cruz’s cock could be smothered like sausage meat into a dense sleeve. Per ascent, the congealed pressure that it applied to these same inches could be peeled from their impression against his cock inches in a manner similar to the removal of a sludgy and disgustingly effective bandaid. Minutes spent enduring these sensations in direct sequence to another another—a sensation she could imagine herself as providing—was certain to bring her trainer to orgasm…

And she’d be praised for it. Not her brat sister nor her inanely talented mother, but her and her alone.

Buoyed by the thought, she continually beamed up at Cruz all-throughout the double-handed efforts. Exertion absent in both her facial expression and posture, her expectations for the effort soon coaxed a familiar string of inquiries out from between her lips.

“Hehe, you don’t need to be mean, Cruz. I know Aya and I are just meat, but I at least know how to use my fuckholes better than she does.” she teased, words intertwined with the fleshy plunging noises skewered from Aya’s face. “I’m going to make her an even better toilet for your cock juice, just wait and see. Let me keep gutting her drooling facecunt on your cock like the worthless retard that she is. Dad’ll get an even better idea of what we’re good for if he sees her face at the end of it, too!”

To this, Cruz could only sigh, shrug, and at last turn his attention over to the Ralts still slumped on his knees at the bedroom door. A display of this sort was along the lines of what he had intended to help his Pokemon display, but the blatancy of Suya’s stubbornness made him feel as though the event was becoming much too one-sided.

To rectify this, he planned and executed an interjection of his own.

“Sorry, Arthur.” he bean, words inflected by a jovial sort of remorse. “This was supposed to be something a little more self-explanatory, but neither of ‘your’ kids have been very good at staying focused when a cock ends up in front of them.”

“Oh, but hey, you’re at least not at fault for that— **neither of them have any of your genetics to begin with, right**? You’ve treated them like princesses and funded their lives, but really, you just paved the way for them to grow up as a pair of warped SEPH sperm-dumpsters who have more ego than they know what to do with.”

Cruz knew better than to expect a reaction from Arthur at this point. Still, he spent the seconds that followed this utterance surveying his obscured features for a change.

In the end, the most significant thing that he observed was a pitiful quivering his lower lip.

“Anyway, the good news is that unlike you, I actually know how to manage them.” Cruz added, wistfully. “It probably won’t do you any good to know this at this point, but the trick to SEPH has always been force. No matter how impressive and intelligent they are, it’s the only thing that animals really understand.”

“Like this.”

Un-invested as ever, Cruz acted without even taking his eyes off of Arthur. Reaching out with his left hand, he squarely fastened it to the back of Aya’s head and shamelessly plunged her skull through to another root-depth hilt along his member. This one backed by far more strength than her older sister could muster, the succinct * **GLRSH** * produced as his cock was wedged through her sopping throat-pipe was swiftly followed by a muted * **BLORT** *. Still much too small for the cock that was being pleasured with her innards, the impression of Aya’s lips and nostrils to the exterior of his crotch led the underage SEPH to messily regurgitate a wealth of semen and throatslop onto his crotch through her lips and nostrils.

What fluid volume her stomach lost from the sudden discharge was replaced just as swiftly. Timed to the settlement of her cock-spread esophagus meat around Cruz’s cock came an overdue eruption of cock juice through the sodden organ. Lurched up through his urethra like a pressurized porridge through a pliant tube, the reeking mire wriggled up into an esophagus-basting discharge across the lower reaches of her gullet. Behind the first, messy (and sometimes misshapen) expulsions of the substance nearly as lengthy as Cruz’s forearm and far too thick and discolored to represent ‘traditional’ reproductive fluid, the dense sludge’s compilation within Aya’s depths soon left her frame with a familiar pair of choices: swallow, or asphyxiate.

Naturally, her frame selected the latter. Shamelessly and ardently, Aya’s esophagus gulped down one glutted dollop of cock juice after another whilst a muddled *GLRP~* echoed out from her neck for each one that it managed. This was its purpose; rather, the one that had been fucked into it for as long as it had been pliant enough and lengthy enough to handle her trainer’s cock.

This time, however, it was not required to do so for the entirety of her user’s release. Some seconds after serving its primary purpose, a sudden backwards wrenching of Aya’s skull relieved the organ of its task, and again granted Aya a form of ‘presence’ in the world around her.

Not that it amounted to much. After the slurred retraction of cockmeat through her esophagus and the sodden popping of Cruz’s glans from between her lips, producing speech in the moment became a pipe dream. The most that she managed was a segmented regurgitation of what semen she had already consumed and an orgasmic coo rooted equally in pleasure and utter exasperation.

With this, Cruz went to work making her release ‘purposeful’. Whilst making sure that Aya’s spluttering did not draw her face too far away from his still spurting cock, he reached out with his left hand to take hold of Suya’s skull. Threading fingers into the styled green material that served as her hair, he dragged the larger girl from her position behind Aya to one directly beside her. As soon as the sisters’ torsos were close enough to one another, he mushed Aya’s right cheek up against Suya’s neck, and tilted Suya’s skull ever so slightly downward such that the height at which her facial features were situated would match her sisters.

Suddenly, the combined features of the SEPH females were made into a smiling, blood-tinged canvas for the remainder of his orgasm. Every strand of plaster-quality tapioca that leapt from the tip of his shaft behind this point was delivered between their facial features. As both girls had been made to face his length dead-on, their distribution equated to a dense caking of one side of their profiles and a mild splattering of the other. For several painstakingly lengthy seconds, platted threads of Cruz’s nutrient-fattened swimmers (and the unruly globules flung from them throughout their delivery) clogged their pores, burdened their eyelids into a mild droop, and on occasion rendered the empty whites of their eyes and increasingly pink and painful iteration of themselves.

  
Cruz had intended this, and spent the remainder of his orgasm ensuring that the dousing of their features became revolting as possible. Just as soon as he was confident that the position he had left their skulls at was sufficient for this end, he sent his left hand back into a vehement choke-pumping of his shaft’s root, and took to angling the sisters’ skulls in towards one another via a single palm placed behind both of their heads.

In doing so, he had his way. When the last chewable burble of nut spurt out onto the ‘ruined’ canvas he had created, neither Aya nor Suya could be seen kneeling ahead of him—only a pair of smiling, bleary-eyed animals content to giggle and smile whilst blood drained from one of their nostrils.

All too aware of the fact that neither of them could do better, Cruz ‘settled’. Finally releasing his still-erect member, he again devoted a hand each to the positioning of the girls’ skull. Forcing their faces off to his left as one might brandish a picture towards someone (and adjusting their kneeling positions ahead of him in the process), he presented the changed pair to the man who had until moments ago believed himself to be their father.

And he sneered.

“So, what do you think, Arthur? Don’t you think they look happier this way?” began Cruz, venomous wistfulness carrying his tone. “You should know best, right? You’ve been raising them for the past decade, haven’t you? I mean, I know I’ve been doing my part, but you’ve still been around them much more than I have.”

Finally, after minutes of pitiable silence, Arthur provided his surrogate son with something that he could work with .

“I-I…t-that…t-they’re …”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot.” yet again, Cruz interjected with a readiness that suggested Arthur’s stammering was all he wished to hear. “They were just **pretending** , weren’t they? I told them to do whatever they had to in order to earn your love and trust and they just did it. Psychic type Pokemon really are clever, aren’t they?”

Finally, Arthur’s anger flared. Having been brought to the very lowest point he could recall for himself, Cruz’s latest attempt at driving him down drew ‘fight’ from his core instead of ‘flight’. On his feet, he wiped the blood trickling from his nose and began to stride forward.

“ What you’ve done…who you are…I don’t understand any of it,” he stammered angrily. “It doesn’t matter, though; those are my little girls. I don’t care what you say—I’m not going to let you stand there and treat them like animals!”

For a fleeting instance, Arthur seemed poised to back his claim with something other than emotion. In his anger, the potential embedded within him and all SEPH like him began flaring from his frame in the form of a dull blue hue. Much larger and harsher than his stature might’ve implied, a case could be made for his genetics being far less impotent than his appearance implied.

Of course, implication was the most that he managed. Steps into his seething approach, both his stride and the surge of energy from his frame were snuffed out in their infancy by a pair of arms that embraced him from behind.

Again leveraging her larger stature, Kaona matched her husband’s approach without much difficulty. Just when it seemed that his ingress might amount to something, she descended to her knees and gently pulled Arthur’s back into contact with her chest.

“Maaa, maaa~ Who knew you had such a stubborn side to you, sweetie. Had I known, I’d have spoken to you about what Cruz was doing even sooner.” Kaona exhaled, warmly. “Now isn’t the time for any more of your **empty fucking posturing** though, okay? You’re speaking to the boy who saved this family—I’m not going to let you make any more trouble for him than you already have.”

Whereas her voice conveyed a caustic displeasure, the sweater-clad Gardevoir’s actions contained naught but warmth. Whilst speaking, she affectionately rubbed her left cheek up and down her husband’s right as a mother might whilst attempting to console a child. More saliently, the grasp she had used to restrain him was devoid of any real force. If he wished, her husband could very easily wriggle out of it…

But he wouldn’t. Rather, he couldn’t; so long as she was present, he’d never think to move against her.

Kaona’s assumption was validated in seconds. Once smothered up against her breasts and dragged into contact with her sweetly scented frame, all of his earlier indignation faded into a distressed urgency. He even spoke out in an attempt at validating it; pointlessly, but he managed the effort all the same.

“B-But the girls…! K-Kaona, you can’t. I-I know what it looks like, but please. D-Don’t tell me this is what you want for them. D-Don’t tell me this is what you—“

“It is. I didn’t feel that way at first, and for a while, I didn’t want either of them doing what **I had to do**.” Kaona interjected. “But it’s better this way. Before we were born—before Cruz was born, things were exactly like this. We didn’t have to think about how hard life really is, or how difficult it would be for us to live our lives as something that we’re not.”

“Maybe you can’t understand because you’re a male, but for SEPH like us—like Aya, Suya, and even me—it’s the one thing that we’re best at. The thing that we were born to do before anything else.”

“With how **gullible** you are, you should at least be able to understand that, right ♥?”

Arthur did not understand. He did not want to understand—no happy father in his position would. Still, the tenants of Kaona’s argument framed Cruz and his daughters’ behavior through a much more ‘neutral’ lens.

By the look of the scene ahead of him, the three of them had already forgotten about his presence. With the time he had spent disarmed by his wife’s grasp, Cruz had guided Aya and Suya from their stupefied kneeling position ahead of him into a far more purposeful pair of positions.

After seating himself at the edge of the youngest sister’s bed, Suya was ushered into a perverse half-squat opposite his crotch. Smooth palms braced against her joint-less kneecaps, the position left the sludge-glazed underside of his cock exposed to a tantalizing ascent up the lust-greased bloat of her rear. Contrastively, Aya had moved into a position even more degrading than her last. Pinned back first against the left-side of Cruz’s chest by a barring of his forearm across her neck, the smaller shortstack appeared no less ‘lustfully-enthused’ for the fact that she was being asphyxiated. If anything, she looked happier—or so Arthur’s eyes told him.

In his weakness, Arthur did not think to ask himself ‘how’ the sisters had ended up where they did.

In reality, they were as much ‘to blame’ for their new positions as the young man that had suggested them. For her efforts milking her trainer’s cock with her petite facecunt, Aya had brandished her usual flat-faced stubbornness to coax ‘intimacy’ out of Cruz in the form of suffocation. Similarly, Suya’s position as the ‘supplement’ to Cruz’s prior orgasm spurred her on to ensure that she took the lead position for the next. As Cruz had decided to seat himself, squatting over his crotch like a sow awaiting her seeding was the most effective means of presenting her wants to him.

What little effort the whorish position required of her was validated moments after she slipped into the position. Just as she turned her gaze back towards Cruz to tease her delirious want to him, the sensation of a familiar set of digits sinking into the cloudy fat of her left asscheek sent a narcotic spurt of pleasure rippling up her spine. By the time she managed to fix her eyes on Cruz’s face, the sensation’s impression into her wobbly meat had slid from the center of her cheek to its inner edge. Plumped up to a cock-fattening thickness by a sudden upturn in the tightness applied by Cruz’s hand, the wad of flesh almost seemed as appealing the syrup-spewing lips adjacent to it.

Intoxicating a sight as was set before him, Cruz had not forgotten about Arthur’s rejection of proceedings. If the display his Pokemon had set up was to accomplish anything, he had to be made to understand—even if what remained of him was lost in the process.

To this end, Cruz altered his approach to conversing with him.

“You really don’t get what I’m doing, do you, Arthur?” he exhaled, grinning. “I’m **helping** them. SEPH were born this way and thrived this way for years before anyone thought that they should be more.” 

“Anyway, what do you think, Suya? Maybe if he meets one of his fake grandkids everything will start to sink in a little bit better. That’s what you were thinking when you decided to squat your stupid dumpster of assmeat over my cock, right?”

Excitable to a fault, Suya piped up at Cruz’s suggestion…

But not with words. Wielding her pregnant frame as if it did not carry life within it, she pushed herself onto the tips of her feet and deftly flicked her rear upwards and inwards to better align her exposed mound with the tip of Cruz’s cock. Then, just as she began to feel the humid musk that billowed from its exterior against her lower lips, she sat. Behind a sodden gulping noise produced as her tightened lower lips were spread apart, she thoughtlessly wedged inch after inch of his shaft into a guttural, syrup-laden depression through her vaginal canal until the well-fucked hole had no further ‘depth’ left to give. Swallowing up over half of the rugged pipe in the process, her arrival at the stopping point imposed by her seeded frame drew her upturned eyes into an orgasmic cross, and heralded a second vehement expulsion of her thickened female lubricants out against Cruz’s crotch.

This was the response that her body had ‘learnt’ when faced with the compression of her trainer’s engorged glans against its face: dizzying, cock-soaking orgasms.

Once, these releases had been significant enough to tie Suya’s tongue for the remainder of her coupling with Cruz. Presently, however, they were no more than a pleasurable hiccup to be passed over in anticipation of the next.

Briefly biting into her lower lip to stay its quivering, Suya again angled her face back towards Cruz and trained her eyes on his grinning features.

“M-Mhm, you’re probably r-right, Cruz ♥.” she replied, wistfully airiness soaking her tone with a narcotic quality. “If you fuck my baby out of my tummy, he’ll have no choice but to understand everything c-completely. S-So…”

“Please let me split my sopping meathole on your cock. Beat my squishy SEPH womb so that we can all see the new set of holes I made for you!”

Yet again, a satisfied smirk spread across Cruz’s face. He had hoped that Suya would produce an utterance as impactful as this, but he hadn’t expected the empty-eyed girl to actually manage the task.

Thus, he produced an ‘exceptional’ response all his own. Dragging his palm from the inner edge of her asscheek back across to its peak, he applied a flat pressure to its exterior, and at the same time braced the tips of his toes more tightly against the ground.

  
Finally, he gored his crotch upwards. Forcing his lower half through a sharply curved ascent after a short retraction, he in doing so plunged the yet-swallowed inches of his cock up into the spurting embrace of Suya’s folds until none remained.

Concluded with a firm *PLORP* that sounded out from her pudgy lower lips as they were made to drool against the surface of his crotch, the noise induced by the murky impression and the pleasure that it sent wriggling through Cruz’s member fished another enthused chuckle from the boy’s lips.

“I think this will go a lot faster if you let me help out, Suya.” he suggested. “Don’t get me wrong; having a squishy onahole that knows how to use herself is nice. I just don’t think I’m actually going to get off if I don’t get to beat up your cervix a bit.”

“I’m sure that’s not what you intended though, right? A drooling piece of SEPH fuckmeat like you would _never_ say no to having her womb gutted by a human, would she?”

Goading and demeaning the SEPH in equivalent amounts, Cruz spoke these words without visible anger or discomfort.

He deemed them to be normal—as much so as pointing out a child’s predilection for sweets or some other juvenile muse.

How she responded to his words was irrelevant. After posing this question to Suya, Cruz again tightened his single-handed grasp on the meat of her lower body. Whilst holding her ass at the hilt depth position he had forced it down to, he messily peeled several inches of his cock out from her folds until a slickened quarter of its vein-root-threaded girth could be seen pulsing beneath her lower lips

This done, he stabbed his crotch upwards for a second time. Abrasively drilling his glans up against the elastic bulk of her cervix-face with even more force, the vehement pushback that the fattened donut fed his greedy pleasure receptors coaxed his frame into reproducing the peeling and thrusting motions that had got him to this point. Palm squarely smothered into the fat of her rear, a voracious, sweat-greased clatter of *PLAT~!* noises timed for each of the ball’s deep impacts of his crotch against her flesh soon consumed the bedroom’s airspace…

Much like the sound of Aya’s throatfucking before it.

Further similarities appeared within seconds of one another. Now relegated to the role of ‘helper’ for her sister’s cunt-rending, Aya worked to spend her time suffocating underneath Cruz’s forearm purposefully.

By her definition, ‘purposeful’ behavior amounted to curving her soulless gaze towards her father, and speaking whilst the shade of her facial features darkened to match the blood dribbling form her nose.

“This is the t-truth, Daddy. No one is forcing Suya and I.” Aya began, voice thinned yet ecstatic. “Being meat for Cruz to breed with is w-what we’re best at; it’s what our genetics w-were made for. W-We’d never be happy growing u-up to be the kind of SEPH you are.”

Impressively, speaking this way did not worsen the quality of her voice over time. In fact, the passage of time saw yet more ecstasy invade her tone.

“I-I’m not as ungrateful as S-Suya, though. You t-took such good care o-of us while Cruz t-trained us to be the b-best fucking pigs we c-could be. And y-you’re gonna keep doing it, t-too. I-I don’t know anyone who is’h as g-generous a-as…”

Finally, chinks became appearing in the smaller girl’s armor. Whereas her mind was happy to suffocate underneath Cruz’s grasp, neither her frame nor the child within it were in much of a hurry to resign themselves to such a fate. Granted as much a ‘say’ in proceedings as Aya herself, their combined defiance worked her fingerless hands into a pointless impression into Cruz’s forearm musculature, and at the same time sent her hips into a fit of stifled wriggling.

Neither of the displays amounted to anything. In the end, Aya made certain that the ‘choice’ regarding what was to become of her remained hers and hers alone. She enjoyed the sensation of Cruz’s abuse, and as such was without a reason to deny herself it.

Thus, she remained. Even as her eyes began rolling up towards the peaks of their sockets and her maw slipped open into a fanged and all-too-ecstatic smirk, she refused to allow herself even an inch of extra breathing room.

Comically, this too did not prevent her from speaking.

“W-Watsh it, D-Daddy ♥.” she hissed, hints of her usual ‘calm’ still audible in her tone. “W-Watch us get our b-babiesh f-fucked out. W-Watcsh u-us give up e-everything t-to be good little b-babymakers f-for Cruz’sh♥.”

**“Wat** **’sh us be what we are!”**

In the same way that Suya had goaded her father, so too did Aya go out of her way to antagonize him. Though she did not know it, the amount of attention that her words garnered from the conflicted man paled in comparison to what Suya earned from her bouncing along Cruz’s erection.

Yes, rather than submitting to the half-length thrusts that Cruz smashed between her folds, Suya chose to match them with a destructive metronome all her own.

Enhancing the pummeling of her uterus past what Cruz had already imposed was no small task. To begin with, her seating herself on Cruz’s member and the vicious jackhammering that he committed himself to had rendered her innards’ needy suckling to his member as purposeless. As was so often the case, the congealed tunnel’s skintight smushing to his girth’s exterior—from its livid veins to the engorged mushroom that threatened to pierce her wriggling cervix at any moment—could not be maintainable whilst Cruz drove it in and out of her. For as few inches as he withdrew from her, their departure disengaged her folds’ pressurized tightness and left them to sputter and slobber against his meat as it was wrenched from their depths.

Try as they certainly did to maintain their impression on his length all the way through, this was not what they were suited for. Like the insides of her innumerable SEPH ancestors, Suya’s innards were best suited to the role of a squishy, cock-sucking punching bag for human cock—provided the cock in question was used properly, of course.

Given that contending with the nauseating pace of Cruz’s thrusts by way of force or cock-milking pressure was impossible, Suya again defaulted to ‘repetition’ as her contribution to proceedings. Rather than moving contrarily to Cruz’s thrusts, she met each and every breakneck spike of his crotch with a downward flog of her rear. Flicking her hips downwards and wiggling her hips ever so slightly to match her screwing, the ‘appearance’ of her efforts quickly took on a manic depravity unattainable by a female with a functioning sense of self.

The only women capable of messily splitting their lower lips with a cock thicker than their own arm—much less whilst pregnant—were women senselessly (and happily) devoted to the pleasure of their partners. For Suya, this happy devotion could be found in the fanged smile that she sported whilst bouncing and the sweaty exertion demanded of her by the squat that she had assumed.

Not only had she welcomed her position, but she was utterly content with it…

Cervix rending abuse and all.

“I-It’sh so g-gooood. G-Getting fucked like aw-worthless animal feel’sh s’ho good ♥!” threaded into between the ceaseless *PLAP-PLAP-PLAP* of Cruz’s crotch against the meat of her ass were verbalizations of the happiness that Suya felt. Each delivered in a voice warped by strain and stimulation, their reverberation through the bedroom’s airspace chiseled away at her remaining dignity shard by jagged shard.

“SEE-DADDY?-T-THIS-IS-WHAT-A SEPH-IS ♥.” eventually, the pace of Cruz’s rutting began segmenting her utterance into their constituent words. None of their quality was lost, but the happening itself suggested that Cruz was fucking the buxom Pokemon’s mind as actively as he was her jiggling. “WE’RE MEAT ♥; S-STUPID-DISPOSABLE-SLABS-OF-IT~!”

“S’SHO-SMILE~! SMILE-W-WHILE-THE-MEAT- YOU-RAISED-GET’SH-FUCKED-INTO-GIVING-BIRTH~!”

In her heart—or what amounts of it remained accessible by her altered mind—Suya genuinely hoped that her faux father would be able to come to terms with reality. Not for his own sake; his happiness and comfort were subjects that she had never bothered herself with to begin with. What she desired from his recognition was further cementation for the choice that she had made.

The recognition that only a father could give a daughter.

Obtaining it did not mean the world to her. Cruz meant the world to her; everything else could be classified as something that she’d happily disregard for his sake. Nevertheless, she desired it enough to launch taunt after taunt at the man whilst engaging in an especially deep form of ‘twerking’ atop her trainer’s member.

What was more, she managed these things whilst her female organs were pushed closer towards birth thrust by lubricant-glazed thrust. By applying herself to Cruz’s pleasure as she had, the periods of time that her cunt spent in a state that was not a choked clamor to the exterior of his member were shortened to a point of irrelevance. As she had intended, contending with the unrelenting aggression of Cruz’s thrusts was no longer an issue. Moving in time with him allowed her squirming folds to apply their loosened constriction against his phallus’ writhing veins, and soon enough reminded her cervix of the ‘role’ that it was to play in his stimulation.

Smothered downward by Suya’s hip flicks and tented further upwards by the nose of Cruz’s glans each time a sloppy *PLORP!* was slapped from off of its owners asscheeks, the thus-far-sealed organ began to loosen…

It remembered. It had taken several minutes of senseless fucking to jog its memory, but the ‘purpose’ that it existed to complete at last began to influence proceedings.

Milking Cruz’s cock for his seed was all it was good for; whether or not an infant was inside her womb didn’t matter.

Thusly, it played its part. Amidst the manic coupling shared between Suya and Cruz, the former’s cervix began dilating, and soon enough suckling to the foremost inches of the cock responsible for its abuse. Wedged further apart fractions of an inch at a time, the uterus-scalding cockmeat thus far warded off by the donut’s well-fucked exterior ebbed into the ring’s inner surface and ‘reintroduced’ itself to its meat in a manner so mind-numbingly pleasurable that her frame was forced to take action when faced with it.

Just as the puffy ring was spread to match the fist-like girth of Cruz’s member, Suya’s trampoline twerking came to an end. Though Cruz’s thrusts continued unobstructed after the fact, Suya did not move her rear from out of the cock-smothering ‘seat’ she had assumed atop his crotch.

Not long after her chained ascents and descents came to an end, another heavy expulsion of sticky cunt syrup was ejected out against Cruz’s crotch. Stirred and swirled by the boy’s continual thrusts to the tune of a sewage quality * **PLORP-PLATTCH-PLORP** *, the release’s quality seemed of a thicker and heavier variety than Suya had produced prior.

No additional pleasure showed on the SEPH’s face, however. From the re-assumption of her seated position right up to the end of her orgasm, her gaze had sat upturned towards the ceiling, and her facial expression became locked into the projection of a narrowly ‘o’-mouthed disbelief.

This was not the expression of a SEPH overwhelmed and enthralled by the basal desires that defined her. Really, what it was could be argued. Astonishment, fear, a dread bereft weight or emotion; all of these things qualified, yet all of them failed to properly encapsulate it.

Coincidentally, the individuals best placed to ‘take in’ the expression stood entirely aware of how best to describe Suya’s expression. Whereas Kaona had once produced a similar expression herself, Arthur had twice seen it bloom and persist across his wife’s face:

This was the expression of a young woman moments away from giving birth.

-

**THE DANGERS OF DREAMING**

Shortly after Aya was born, Arthur entertained numerous thoughts about the experiences that he might share with his wife and daughters. He did not go as far as meticulously routing their immediate futures or stringently attaching himself to what he imagined to be ‘best’ for them. Support and guidance were the responsibilities of all good parents, but as SEPH—worse still female SEPH—there could be no greater harm done to them than attempting to control their lives.

No—his daydreams were of a far more wistful nature. He imagined himself taking both girls to school, helping them study, seeing them off to post-secondary education, and one day seeing them married. Far more idly, he imagined himself as being present when his grandchildren were born. Perhaps not directly, but close enough to support and congratulate them after the fact.

As his daughters grew and his wife matured, these thoughts went untempered. He had every reason to be optimistic about them. No longer was he required to live life as a sullen realist ever aware of his insufficiencies. With two daughters, a wife, and occasionally a son that he could always rely on, wistfully dreaming about the future at last became something that he could do unhindered.

Not once in any of these dreams did he imagine his eyes being glued to his eldest daughter’s cunt as the skull of an infant crowned at the semen-caked orifice’s mouth. Seeing orgasmic splatters of lubrication launched from his youngest’s lower lips as she struggled with the expulsion of her own child was another outlier. That either girl would find a partner so early on into their lives, or for that matter, choose to start a family with this person was unthinkable.

To this stage in their lives—the stage at which he became aware that the girls were not his own—Arthur had failed to cross many of these idle daydreams off of his ‘to do’ list. When the beginning of Suya’s birth contractions began playing out ahead of him, the ‘shape’ that his reality had taken on left him with no other choice but to accept that he never would.

Still squatted, the placid ‘stun’ visible across Suya’s face became an overfucked sneer at a moment’s notice. In time with the transition, her hands snapped down into an affectionate clutching of her bulbous midsection and her narrowly parted lips spread into a fang-grit sneer that those who laid eyes on it were unlikely to forget.

“NMMMMGUUUGH♥♥ S-SHE’SH CUMMIN’ M-MY BABY’SH C-CUMMING♥♥!”

As she howled this for all those present within the bedroom to hear, something else arrived well before her daughter could begin her descent. Lost to the orgasmic euphoria of birthing that had once crippled her species with addiction, she failed to recall the fact that the boy who had pushed her to this state was not yet finished using her frame.

The wave of pleasure induced by her daughter’s downward motion within her womb became a sensation sullied, and consequentially enhanced by the discharge of a lengthy and impressively dense jizz strand out against the face of her cervix. Neither a fluid nor solid, the thread of chewable plaster utterly obscured the enflamed flesh-button with only a fraction of its volume. In lieu of the surface area that it required to be distributed ‘cleanly’, its compaction against itself produced a wet *GLRP* loud enough to be heard at Suya’s midsection as it occurred. On quality alone, it sounded as though her insides were attempting to drink down its contents and failing miserably at the task.

Were this the sole blurt of seed to be plastered inside of her, one could safely assert that Suya’s womanhood had received the seeding that it deserved. Of course, it wasn’t. Before the contents of Cruz’s first strand could settle in its layered coagulation atop her cervix, a second eruption of seed turned the confined pocket of sludge into a flesh-teasing swamp of semen-entrapped swimmers. Following the second was a third, and behind it a fourth; all within fractions of a second of one another. Gifted with the same flesh-staining excess as their predecessors, their addition to the cock-smothered volume of semen within her eventually demanded more space than her occupied innards could hope to provide.

With each grotesquely dense outflow that followed, this demand grew more hoarse and severe. For a veritable eternity of seconds, the congested slushing of semen against itself within Suya’s womanhood went unanswered. Until the ‘excess’ volume of the substance was made to explode from out of her lower lips in a stuttered regurgitation of chewable cock-paste, the opposing ‘forces’ within her gut (these being Cruz’s spewing erection and the child pushing downward against her cervix) seemed too stubborn to allow the other any sort of advantage.

It was at this point that Cruz was forced to do something other than enjoy himself. Feeling Suya’s folds drowned under the weight and mass of his seed whilst an entirely different force weighed down on the tip of his cock, his instincts demanded that he retreat lest Suya somehow make an even more unrepentant whore of herself. Again did he mash his dominant hand into the pliant meat of her ass as a form of handle, and again did he forcibly press her floored folds back up towards his rigid flesh-trunk’s tip. Ignoring the splutters of semen that burst from her depths throughout, he did not stop until the most bloated fraction of his mast slipped from her folds to the tune of a hideously messy *PLORP*.

At this, he sighed aloud. The exhalation itself was forgettable; relative to the noise induced by a softball-sized (and shaped) discharge of nut splattering out onto the floor from the inside of Suya’s womb, it may as well not have occurred.

The words that he produced after the fact were completely audible, however.

“Letting your insides get bloated with cock juice again before you even give birth doesn’t make any sense, Suya. Are you so afraid of your daughter being better than you that you’re willing to drown her before she’s even born?” Cruz inquired, grinning. “Either way, you’re still responsible for raising her, so the least you can do is birth her properly…”

Seemingly incensed and yet somehow not, his admonishment of the squatting Kirlia ended with an outward extension of the same hand that had been used to peel her rear upwards. This time driving the limb upwards across the length of her frame, he left his knuckles to sit opposite her left cheek before outstretching his index and middle fingers.

Seconds later, both digits were pushed through a curled ‘hook’ into the same corner of the Kirlia’s mouth. Purposed precisely as their appearances implied, Cruz pushed his index finger upward and his middle finger downward to perversely expose the interior of Suya’s mouth.

Though intended as a form of reprimand, Suya herself could have cared less about the act. After the vacation of Cruz’s cock from her cunt, her mind could only focus on one thing: the expulsion of the child that Cruz had fucked into her.

As such, she held her squat and willed her frame through precisely this. As best she could, she contracted the interior of her womanhood at intervals timed to wriggling motions that her unborn child produced. In doing so, she squished her progress further down through her dialated cervix until she could finally feel the beginnings of the little girl’s warmth mushed down into the confines of her seed soaked vaginal canal.

Past this milestone, she demanded yet more effort from herself. In her mind, the ‘hard’ part of her orgasmic release was already over. What remained was a sprint to a ‘finish line’ more satisfying than any she had touched thus far. With this in mind, she disregarded the will of her daughter and began consistently clenching down on her frame to see her body mass voided as quickly as possible.

To cope with the blended pleasure and pain that assaulted her, she smothered her palms more tightly into the frail mass of her kneecaps, and allowed further slackness to overtake her mouth. As had been the case with her twerking atop Cruz’s member, she traded what little dignity her position afforded her to see the task she had taken on completed more efficiently.

“h’sh hllipin’ awn ♥. (She’s slipping down).” Suya cooed. “ Ah hew ‘raud a me Cruz’sh? –aym hivin’ bir’sh ‘here every ‘n ‘eee (I’m giving birth where everyone can see!)”.

Unbeknownst to her, these words only had a moderate effect on the man that they had been intended for. Whereas half of Arthur’s attention remained firmly fixed on his eldest daughter’s disfigured facial expression and squirting lower lips, the other half was firmly held on the delivery effort of his youngest.

Unlike her sister, Aya used her basal distractions to her advantage. Not long after Cruz’s balls began splattering his fattened reproductive sludge against her sister’s womb, the stimulation that she derived from her suffocation exceeded her tolerance for it . Already in the midst of her own birthing contractions, the wild expulsion of cunt-syrup that burst from her as a result served to lubricate her daughter’s descent even further. Rather than dwelling on the sensation, she used its occurrence to push and squeeze against her daughter’s body mass as much she could.

So ardent was her effort that, in spite of her reddened facial features and the desperate groans that slithered from between her fangs, her child began peeking through her lower lips before Suya’s. Though the ultimate difference in their breeches was only a matter of seconds, this gap resulted in Aya’s birth becoming the first that Arthur truly focused on.

In its own way, Aya’s display was also the more impactful of the two. Putting aside the fact that her tiny body was somehow discharging a tiny life of its own, Aya’s suffocation left her incapable of squealing out as her elder sister had. Consequentially, the other ‘defining features’ of her birth, these being the blood streaming from both of her nostrils and the abject lifeless visible in her eyes, were accentuated to the point of irresistibility.

Arthur did his utmost to mitigate her expression’s scarring of his mind, but per usual, his efforts ended in abject failure. Even as his eyes began to track his ‘granddaughters’ slick descent from Aya and Suya’s innards, it was the first configuration of Aya’s facial features that festered within his mind as the most salient portion of the event.

In the moment, his mind—or perhaps the withered husk that remained of it—regarded the image as validation for the lunacy spouted by those who had pushed him to this point. If his youngest, the reticent angel that reminded him so much of the woman that he had married, was willing to embrace an ordeal that forced such an expression to disfigure her face, perhaps this was what was best for her.

Perhaps she **was** the sow that she professed herself to be; a developing slab of disposable meat meant for this purpose, and this one alone.

Without arguments to the contrary (or any sort of desire to find them), this conclusion was granted license to root itself into the loamiest and most fertile ‘space’ within his mind.

No sooner was it implanted was further validation heaped atop it. Mere seconds after his ears were made to consume the sound of a pair of fetuses colliding into a puddle of sexual fluid, his wife’s voice drew his attention away from his daughters’ depraved figures and back onto her.

  
Awaiting his eyes after their sluggish crawl towards her line of sight was a sneer so wide, so self-satisfied, that its presence seemed to mock his very existence.

“How does it feel to be a grandfather, sweetie? I know how long you’ve wanted this, so I’m sure you must be absolutely ecstatic right now.” Kaona teased. “You really will have your work cut out for you from now on, though. **Our** family is so much bigger now; being a grandfather and father at the same time won’t be easy.”

“Especially considering…”

Midway through her utterance, Kaona released her embrace of his frame and slid just out of contact with him. Situated far enough to seamlessly guide her arms in towards herself, she took hold of the lower hem of her sweater with both of her hands and began drawing the garment up her torso at a teasingly slow pace.

The reason for these movements became apparent shortly afteerwards. Like his daughters’ birthing sessions, Arthur attended to Kaona’s actions as though he had no other choice but to. First onto her hands, then onto the fabric of her sweater, his tired eyes fixed themselves on every major focal point of the act until only one remained,

Underneath Kaona’s sweater was her midsection. There, as opposed to the fat padded abdominal section and slanted hip curvature he had become accustomed to, was a taut, dome-like bulge.

It was familiar. The sight of it made Arthur recall a morning he had spent with Kaona years prior. She had been strangely quiet and fidgety, and when questioned as to why, she had pulled up in her shirt in a display of frustration.

She had been pregnant.

She was now, too.

“You’re going to be a ‘father’ again soon, too ♥. She’ll be counting on you to give her everything that she needs to grow up into the SEPH she should be, so keep working hard, okay?”

No matter how empty, how mutilated by circumstance he became, Arthur could not find it himself to cast off the role that had defined him. Thus, though his words and emotions had long since failed him, he responded to Kaona’s desires as he believed a man ought.

He nodded.

And he smiled.


End file.
